


Lady Liberty

by Fall_in_Fyrearth



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-08 08:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21233045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fall_in_Fyrearth/pseuds/Fall_in_Fyrearth
Summary: Alfred didn't come back from the Vietnam War. The others mourned and searched for answers. It's been over 30 years and there hasn't been a personification of the United States in all that time. Now, though, who is this girl France randomly found and why is she having such strange dreams?





	1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don’t own Hetalia. If I did, I could pay my college bills easily.

* * *

_The rapport of gunfire sounded to the left._

_Dive to the ground to make a smaller target, fire off a round in the enemy’s general direction._

_Curse as blood splattered; the men on either side falling, lifeless._

_More gunfire, more dying screams and wails of the injured and then silence._

_Army crawl to a nearby clump of bushes…running low on ammo…need to run, to go home…_

_The burning metal of a recently fired gun pressed into the back over the heart. Breath caught in the throat; eyes and mind searching, searching for any chance of escape._

_Can’t die, not here, not now._

_The too familiar sound of a gun being fired, a bullet ripping through flesh and then the world faded to a darkness so encompassing all hope died._

_I’m sorry…Iggy._

Evelyn Summers jerked awake like she did most mornings those last three words ringing clearly in her mind. She huffed in annoyance at the red numbers of the clock—6:43—a little under an hour before her alarm was set to go off. However, she knew she wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep; she never could once the dream ended.

The dream.

The beginning was always different—different places, people, events all through history—but the ending would always be the same; those three words would always wake her up and she could never wake up until she heard them.

The dream had started last semester when she was taking a class on the Vietnam War. At first it was just the last bit, but it was soon joined by other parts. Evelyn had the distinct impression that the people in those other bits were somehow important, but their faces were always fuzzy and she could never really remember what happened in the morning.

She could always remember the last part though. It was as clear in her conscious mind as it was in her dream.

Evelyn splashed cold water on her face studying her reflection in the mirror. Hazel eyes stared back at her from a pale face framed by a messy wave of brown hair liberally streaked with blonde. Dark circles were forming under her eyes from the lack of good night’s rest. That was nothing new for a college student, but only her roommates knew it wasn’t related to tests or papers.

Sighing, she dressed quickly pulling on a faded pair of jeans and a red top with the iconic golden arches. She had given up trying to figure out the dream or even trying to get rid of it; the dream was just an accepted part of her now. Evelyn twisted her hair up into a loose knot holding it in place with a clip then grabbed her bag and phone heading to the library.

She had always liked history; she could see herself there so it just made sense she would be a history major. The library had become her refuge. There she could lose herself in the history books and fiction she loved so much and the dream was pushed to the farthest corners of her mind.

This morning, however, she had a definite purpose for her visit and that was the paper due in the upcoming weeks for her class on the American Revolution. She was attempting to prove that the French really hadn’t been that much of a help in winning the war, but, unfortunately, the accounts she had been finding praised them.

After another fruitless hour, Evelyn gave up the hunt and hurried to class. Maybe her instructor would have an idea.

* * *

Evelyn checked her watch blushing slightly at her stomach’s grumbling. She had forgotten to eat breakfast this morning and her body was letting her know it didn’t approve. She ate almost constantly, but never seemed to gain any weight. Her friend and roommate, Jessica, couldn’t understand how she did it. Evelyn smiled to herself; she didn’t understand how either.

Crossing the street to the usual café, she waved to Jessica and Nina through the window. Jessica was waving a paper in the air excitedly pointing at the red letter in the corner. Evelyn hurried inside taking the report from her friend and congratulating her on the grade.

“You were gone when I got up this morning,” Nina said. “Did you have the dream again?”

Her Mexican friend always did worry too much. “Yes,” Evelyn answered truthfully. “It’s not like it’s anything new though.”

Jessica snorted. “You don’t have to listen to you muttering in your sleep and the moaning for the especially bad ones.”

“Sorry Jess, but I don’t even remember what the full dream is.”

“Right only those three words. Who’s Iggy anyways?”

Evelyn shrugged. “No one I know.”

“You had to have heard it somewhere if it’s in your dream,” Nina pointed out.

The waiter brought them their usual orders. Jessica seemed like a typical Cali girl with her sun blonde hair, eating a salad to keep her figure so she could wear the latest fashions. Nina, on the other hand, was proud of her Mexican heritage and showed it at every possible opportunity. Her usual was a plate of tacos which she poured some special sauce over that would kill a normal person’s taste buds. Evelyn ate her burger and ketchup drenched fries to Jessica’s disgust.

“Do you even taste your food?”

Evelyn swallowed her mouthful taking a sip of coke to help it down. “Course I do. How can you eat that rabbit food?”

“Have you had any, you know, _episodes_ today?” Nina asked before the normal argument could get started.

There were times when Evelyn would black out. The amount of time varied, but she could never remember what happened during the time she was out. Her friends had told her that, for some of them, she would be talking, but they could only hear one side of the conversation.

“No, not today, but the day’s not over yet.”

* * *

Francis Bonnefoy, otherwise known as France, was quite enjoying his day. The meetings for the day had completed successfully and now he was sitting in a café where, even though the food was subpar by his standards, the patrons were interesting.

There was a group of girls specifically who he had been watching simply for their beauty, but, after catching a piece of their conversation, his curiosity had been piqued.

“Who’s Iggy anyways?” The blonde had asked.

_Could they possibly be talking about Angleterre? Iggy is what_ he_ used to call him_. Francis mused to himself. He examined the girl who seemed to be the center of their attention. She was short, no taller than the English nation, and there were circles under her eyes. She wore faded jeans frayed at the hem and a fitted tee that actually looked fairly new; she had about as much fashion sense as most Americans, which is to say, none at all. When the waiter delivered their orders, she ate her hamburger with such energy she could rival a certain other nation he knew...

France sighed running a hand through his own blonde locks. America had been dead for over thirty years now—since the end of the Vietnam War—and there was no sign he would be coming back. England had yet to fully recover, and probably never would, despite the mask he put on for the others.

His good mood ruined, Francis set money on the table to cover his bill and turned to leave. It was in that moment he locked eyes with the girl. She stared at him blankly for nearly a full minute and then her eyes glazed over, her head cocked slightly to the side and she spoke.

“I’m finally free. I beat England.”

Francis froze.

“He wasn’t like himself at all though. He looked…so weak…”

The blonde cursed. “She’s having another episode.”

The French nation spared her a glance before returning his full attention to the girl in front of him. Those words and that tone of voice, victorious and yet so sad, it reminded him so much of that time after the Revolution, but that was impossible…

The darker skinned girl stood up turning to address him as the blonde took care of the shortest of the trio. “I’m sorry you had to see our friend like this sir,” she said politely, “but please pay her no mind. This is normal for her and she’ll be fine in a little while.” With that, she turned her attention back to her friend and they left.

Francis was still too stunned to respond. He should’ve asked the girl’s name or inquired further about her “episodes” as the blonde dubbed it.

A black square against the red of the café booth caught his attention. Picking it up, he saw it was a beat up wallet. He briefly debated about turning it in to one of the waitresses, but the wallet had been in the seat the one girl was occupying. It would be good of him to return it to her and if he had a chance to talk with her about the strange occurrence—well, all the better!

* * *

Evelyn cursed. Today was a bad day. Yesterday, she had an episode in public and when she snapped out of it (Jessica and Nina had brought her back to their apartment thankfully) she discovered her wallet missing. She had gone to look for it today, but the waiter said he hadn’t seen it. Then, she failed her test in psychology and still couldn’t find her wallet anywhere.

It wasn’t so much the wallet itself she mourned—it was a cheap thing from some thrift store—or even the loss of her debit card or license; these things were easily replaced, but the photo she kept in it couldn’t be. That one picture was worth more than anything to her and there would never be another one like it.

She checked her phone once more. Her friends were still in class, but they promised to check around campus for her. There were no new messages and Evelyn tossed the cell onto the couch returning to her search.

There was a sharp knock on the door. Curious because she wasn’t expecting anyone, Evelyn answered finding a man with long blonde hair and wearing designer clothes standing outside.

“May I help you?” she asked uncertainly.

“_Oui_,” he replied. Her confusion only grew at the sound of his French—it definitely wasn’t a fake accent, but it also wasn’t like others she had heard either. “Are you Evelyn Summers?”

She nodded.

“My name is Francis Bonnefoy. I found this at the café.” He held out her wallet.

Evelyn snatched it from his hand quickly going through the contents until she found the picture. Her parents’ smiling faces stared up at her and she breathed an audible sigh of relief.

“Thank you. Here, the least I can do is get you something to drink!”

Francis stepped inside as the girl went to the kitchen stuffing the returned wallet into a back pocket. He had thought she was taller than he originally estimated, but that was due to a pair of brown heeled boots. Her hair was put up in a loose knot and she wore jeans over her boots with a white top bearing the American flag.

She seemed truly grateful to get her wallet back, but France suspected it had more to do with the photo she had immediately searched for than any other reason.

“What do you want?” she asked. “We have Coke, water…maybe some tea and coffee.”

“Water _sil vous plait_.”

Evelyn handed him a bottle taking a can of Coke for herself. “So, Francis, are you a student here?”

“_Non_.” He smiled. “I had some business nearby and happened to eat at the café for lunch yesterday.”

“Good thing for me since you found my wallet.” She went to take another drink when her eyes glazed over and she swayed on her feet. France jumped when she slammed the can on the counter gripping the sink like a lifeline. “Damn it,” she muttered.

He placed a hand on her back sliding it down farther than was truly needed. “Are you all right?”

She pulled away looking at his hand with suspicion. “Fine. It’s…it’s nothing.”

“Were you having another episode?”

Evelyn glared at him. “I guess you saw what happened at the café. It’s no big deal really. I’ve had them for a while now.”

So, it was a touchy subject. Running with a spark of inspiration, Francis tried, “Perhaps I can help? I happen to be a doctor.”

She looked at him skeptically. “If that’s some lame pick up line, you can leave now.”

“Trust me, _mon ami_,” he laughed, “I have much better pick up lines.”

Evelyn rubbed the back of her neck, deliberating. “I don’t see how you can; there hasn’t been a doctor yet who’s found anything wrong with me.”

He motioned for her to continue leaning against the counter opposite.

“I…have blackouts. They always seem so random. My friends say that I talk during some of them, but it’s only half a conversation. The other times I just pass out. Then, at night, I have this recurring dream—well, the beginning and middle may be different, but the ending is always the same.” Her voice, hesitant even at the beginning dropped to a mere whisper at the end.

“And, ah, what happens in this dream?”

She shrugged. “I don’t really know. It almost sounds like a war is going on or something and at the end there’s this guy’s voice apologizing to someone…” Evelyn trailed off brow furrowed in concentration. Sighing, she added, “I’ve given up on trying to figure it out.”

_Could it be…?_ France feared to hope. He knew England had long given up on hope, but if this girl was really…well, there was a way to find out.

He waited until she turned around to fiddle with something in the sink. Casually moving to stand behind her and just to the side, he reached down and groped.

Evelyn went ramrod straight. “_Son of a bitch_!” She whirled punching France in the gut.

The girl definitely had more strength than most would give her credit for. The punch convinced him, but England would know for sure. If this girl saw England, would she have another episode? There was only one way to find out.

Evelyn continued cursing at him emphasizing each with a punch. Using a move out of China’s book, he hit a pressure point between her neck and shoulder forcing her into unconsciousness.

Now all he had to do was get her across the Atlantic.

* * *

A/N: So, this is the beginning of my first multi-chapter fic. It was posted on fanfiction.net and I'm finally moving it over to here. That means there are several chapters done already and they'll be posted quickly. I'm still in graduate school (ugh), but I want to get back into writing again for fun. Thank you to my beta Fallinsnow who makes sure my characters are how they should be. Reviews are much appreciated, but will not affect the update schedule.

Until next time!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don’t own Hetalia.

* * *

Arthur Kirkland had decided that today was a good day. The rains London was famous for had stayed away and he had spent the morning in the garden giving some much needed care to his plants. Now, he had a cup of Earl Gray and was getting ready for an afternoon of reading.

“Let go of me you fucking perverted Frenchy! Help! Fire! Rape! Damn it, those are supposed to bring people running. Bomb! Taliban! Al Qaeda! Holy shit, put me down!”

The distressed shrieks were, unfortunately, coming from his front lawn. He set his tea and book to the side going to the door to see what the commotion was about, although he had a sneaking suspicion.

The door opened before he reached it revealing one of his least favorite people. France was smiling triumphantly holding a girl in a fireman’s carry. She was obviously the one who had been screaming though she had desisted for the moment at least opting for glaring murderously at the back of France’s head.

“_Angleterre_!” France called.

“I’m right here frog, you don’t have to shout,” England replied. “Good God, France, you can’t woo them anymore so you decide to kidnap them?”

“_Non mon cher_. I…_oof_!” That was as far as he got as the girl in question had decided at that moment to kick the Frenchman in the stomach causing him to drop her. She landed in a half crouch from which she quickly sprung pulling the front door open.

Another blonde stood outside, his right arm raised as if he was knocking. He readjusted his glasses as violet eyes took in the scene through the open doorway.

“Hello…” Canada began. Kumajirou was already lumbering inside.

“Shit fuck damn they’re multiplying!” The girl did an about face and ran for the back door.

Arthur, tired of having a panicked American (at least that’s what he assumed from her clothing and accent) running around his house, grabbed her arm hoping to talk to her.

A fist flew towards his face. Acting on instinct built up from countless wars, the Brit blocked the blow twisting her arm behind her back so she couldn’t hit anyone else. He had no intention of hurting her, but he didn’t fancy getting punched in the face either.

The girl however, still had a lot of fight left. She stomped on his foot and rammed the back of her head into his nose. He cursed like the pirate he used to be as she slipped from his grasp sprinting for the back door.

Something was wrong though. She slowed, swaying unsteadily. The three nations watched as she unexpectedly crumpled laying unconscious on Arthur’s kitchen floor.

They stared at her dumbfounded for a few moments before England turned on the one responsible for this whole mess. “France!”

* * *

“_I’m sorry…Iggy_.”

Evelyn jerked awake clutching an unfamiliar comforter in her hands. It took a few moments before the previous day’s events caught up with her. She bolted upright flinging the covers off and taking in her surroundings.

The room was simple, but well furnished. She was sitting on a twin-sized bed in the center with a trunk at the foot. To the left was an armoire and to the right was a window. In the corner was a desk with a lamp; a piece of paper was set against the lamp where she would see it.

Ignoring the paper, the American found her wallet and iPod sitting on top of the trunk next to her boots on the floor. Evelyn checked her wallet for her parents’ picture and then pocketed both items slipping on her boots.

If only she hadn’t passed out earlier. She had been so close; the door had been in reach and then her vision had gone black and all she could think was _“Not now, please oh please not now!”_ Unfortunately, her episodes never listened to her pleas and her escape was cut short.

She went to the window pushing aside the dark green curtains looking out at the garden below. She could climb down, difficult in heeled boots (why did she have to wear them today, yesterday? How long had she been out?), but not impossible. Evelyn got as far as opening the window, but the next thought to cross her mind stopped her.

Where would she go? She was in a foreign country (as the Frenchman had informed her when she woke in the car), she didn’t have enough money for a plane ticket home much less a hotel room and even if she did, her passport was back in America. Evelyn hung her head in defeat closing the window.

Might as well go downstairs and face her kidnappers.

* * *

Arthur was in the kitchen when his wholly unexpected guest came downstairs. Francis had informed him that she had episodes and they seemed to be normal for her. She didn’t look any worse for the ordeal.

After the girl had passed out, France had explained why she was here claiming England had raised America once, so he should be able to again. The Frenchman had left quickly after that leaving Arthur to deal with the mess.

Thankfully, Matthew had helped him. They took the girl upstairs tucking her into bed in the guest room. She twitched in her sleep clutching at the blankets. Matthew had gasped and Arthur had been surprised as well—as the girl’s dreams intensified, so did her nation aura. It was almost nonexistent when she had been awake, but now it swelled; while still nowhere near the strength of a true nation, it was recognizable and could not be ignored.

Now the girl was awake again and the aura was gone. Arthur didn’t know what to think. She looked ready to bolt at any moment; the Englishman took pity on her and motioned for her to sit.

“I see you read my note.” He poured another cup of tea as she sat resting her elbow on the table and her chin in her palm.

“No, actually, I didn’t.”

That was surprising. He placed the cup in front of her and took a seat himself. “Then may I ask what you are still doing here? Usually, a kidnapped person would do everything in their power to escape especially if said person isn’t being held in any way.”

She sighed. “I don’t have my passport, phone or enough money to get home. I don’t know where I am or why I’m here. The police most likely won’t believe my story because I hardly believe it. By the way, if you guys are looking for ransom, you definitely took the wrong girl.”

He nodded unable to argue with her logic. “It was not I who kidnapped you; I didn’t even know of your existence until the frog dropped you in my house. I apologize for my colleague’s actions however. He’s not the most intelligent of people and mistook you for someone else.” He took a sip from his tea before setting it down. Internally, he was cursing the damned Frenchman for putting him in this situation, but he wouldn’t let his “guest” see that. “My name is Arthur Kirkland. I can send someone for your passport if you would like and offer you my hospitality until it arrives.”

She blinked dumbly at him for a few moments. Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn’t that. “Er…thank you. You really didn’t want to kidnap me?”

He met her uncertain gaze. “No, I did not. I have better things to do than kidnapping strangers.”

* * *

Evelyn didn’t really know what to think of the British man in front of her, but she didn’t think he was lying. She held out her hand and he took it after a moment of surprise.

“I’m Evelyn Summers. It’s nice to meet you Artie.”

The Englishman furrowed his prominent eyebrows in clear annoyance. “It’s Arthur.”

“Right, sorry.” Evelyn rubbed the back of her neck embarrassed. She didn’t mean to give him a nickname, but it came out before she could stop it. Her stomach growled noticeably and she blushed, embarrassment intensifying as she looked up at her host; she didn’t know the last time she ate.

The Englishman’s indifferent expression didn’t change. It was the same mask he put on for the rest of the world to convince them he was truly fine and that he had moved past the loss of his former colony. “Would you like something to eat?”

“Yes please.”

Arthur nodded going to retrieve food. “I haven’t poisoned the tea.”

“Huh?” She looked at the full cup of cooling tea in front of her. “Oh. To be honest, I don’t really like tea.”

Evelyn could’ve sworn she heard him mutter, “Just like an American.” He returned shortly with a plate of something resembling charcoal squares. Thinking it just looked worse than it was, the American picked one up with her fingers taking a tentative bite. She blanched and downed the tea she had previously shunned.

“Oh my god Artie, has anyone ever told you that you can’t cook?”

Arthur, who had returned to his own tea a moment before, looked like he was contemplating wringing her neck.

* * *

The rest of the morning passed in what could only be called awkward silence punctuated only now and then by a hesitant question from Evelyn and increasingly less patient answers from Arthur.

Evelyn was still wary of the entire situation. The Brit had told her they were on the outskirts of London and, she had to admit, it was a very nice house. She was given free reign as long as she stayed out of the basement (which only made her curious) and didn’t cause trouble.

It wasn’t long until she found the library. Her eyes lit up as they scanned the rows of leather bound volumes, many of them first editions, but she managed to quell the squeal of excitement at the amount of books the Englishman owned. Tentatively, as if they might crumble to dust, the American took down the first volume of Sherlock Holmes and curled up in the nearest armchair to read.

That’s where Arthur found her a couple hours later completely oblivious to the world around her so caught up in the story. He nodded in approval and retrieved his own book enjoying the moment of peace.

* * *

England woke abruptly the next morning. Someone was moving around downstairs and, judging by the smell, they were cooking something. It took him another moment to remember his American guest, but why would she be cooking this early? As far as he knew, Americans hated getting up early; it was one of the reasons _that_ idiot was always late for meetings.

Dressing quickly, Arthur made his way to the kitchen. The smell only got stronger the closer he got and, he had to admit, it smelled good. When he reached the hall, he could hear soft singing coming from the stove area.

Arthur rounded the corner examining the scene before him. Evelyn was leaning against the counter by the stove, spatula in one hand, singing to herself to some song on her music player if the ear buds were any indication.

“_Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars?_” she flipped a pancake in the pan continuing. “_I could really use a wish right now, right now_.” Waiting a few more seconds, she moved the finished pancake to a plate already stacked high. She turned off the stove and grabbed the plate as she turned, jumping when she saw him.

“Good morning,” he greeted.

“Artie! You startled me.”

His eye twitched at the nickname, but he ignored it for now. “Perhaps if you removed the earphones, you might’ve heard me.”

She smiled removing the pieces of technology as requested and placing them in a pocket. “Pancakes?” she held up the plate invitingly.

He nodded going to make tea. “You didn’t have to make breakfast. You are my guest after all.”

Setting the plate on the table, she replied, “With all due respect, Artie, yeah I did—if I wanted to live at any rate.” The last was muttered, but he still heard it.

“It’s ‘yes’ not ‘yeah’ and there’s nothing wrong with my cooking!”

“Not everyone likes charcoal. Come on, there’s nothing to be ashamed about; not everyone can cook…”

“Who’s ashamed? My cooking’s just fine.” He sat at the table muttering a “git” in her general direction. She was starting to remind him a little too much of a certain other American; he had just buried those memories and didn’t fancy revisiting them.

Evelyn poured syrup over her own stack of pancakes beginning to eat energetically. The Brit sighed. It appeared as if he wouldn’t be able to escape those memories no matter how hard he tried. He had actually believed last night that this girl was completely different when she had been quietly reading.

“Hey, how long do you think it will take for my passport to get here?”

Arthur took a sip from his tea before answering. “That would depend on who is available to go get it and the flight schedules.”

“So that means I could be here for a few days, right?”

“Yes, it would.” He had a feeling she was trying to make a point. “As I told you before, you are welcome to stay here until your passport is delivered.”

She quickly chewed and swallowed another mouthful of pancake; at least she had some manners. “That’s good and all—thanks, really, because I don’t know what I would do otherwise—but, if I’m going to be staying here a while…I mean all I have are the clothes I’m wearing now and, well…” she left it hanging unsure how to continue.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. _Bloody hell, _he thought, _I didn’t think about that_. The frog had _kidnapped_ her; she hadn’t had time to pack for a trip to Europe and he certainly didn’t have any spare clothes lying around that would fit her. He could take her shopping—it’s not like she would need much—but she had already made it clear she didn’t have much money either.

“What would you need?” he asked.

“Huh? Oh, another pair of jeans, a few shirts—just the essential stuff.”

He nodded. “There are some stores near here where I can take you. I’ll cover the cost.”

Her face lit up. “Really? Thanks Artie!”

“It’s Arthur!” He had a feeling this was going to be a long day.

At least he could always make the bloody frog pay him back later. With interest.

* * *

Arthur looked up from his book at the American’s sigh. A copy of Sherlock Holmes was sitting open on her lap, but her attention was elsewhere; she stared longingly out the window one foot swinging idly.

She sighed again and, knowing he probably wouldn’t get any peace if he ignored her, he asked, “What are you so interested in?”

Her attention snapped to him. “I’m only in one of the oldest and most historically saturated cities in the world and I’m stuck in here unable to see it.” She sounded like it was the worst crime anyone could commit.

The Englishman laid his book to the side after marking his place. There were not many who complimented his city and he found himself liking this girl for it although the emotion was tempered by the “old” comment. “You are not ‘stuck in here’ as I am not keeping you hostage and if seeing the city is that important to you, we can always go out. I’ve lived here my entire life, so I know a fair amount about it.”

Evelyn perked up, her whole body screaming excitement. “Really? You’ll take me sightseeing?”

Arthur only nodded and was rewarded with a cheer from his guest. In truth, he loved his capitol and would gladly show it off to anyone who wanted to see. Unlike a certain American he once knew, however, he did not force tours on others especially when those others had seen the sights every visit.

He pulled out a light coat for Evelyn before donning his own and they left with the American chattering happily about the things she wanted to see. They boarded a bus taking them downtown to Arthur’s normal stop outside the Parliament building.

“Second star to the right and on ‘til morning.”

“_Peter Pan_,” Arthur identified the quote.

Evelyn pointed at the clock tower. “Yep, Big Ben. It’s the landmark they use as a reference point to get to Neverland. Oh wow! It’s Westminster!” She began talking about its history, which he already knew, but he was a bit impressed by her knowledge.

They spent the rest of day touring the city with the American regaling him with each landmark’s history; he corrected her when necessary, answering questions when she asked, but otherwise stayed silent. Arthur found himself truly impressed with the girl’s knowledge. Most never bothered to learn their _own_ country’s history, much less that of another.

He took her back in the late afternoon, after lunch, much to her chagrin.

“But I haven’t seen the British Museum or the Tower yet,” she whined.

“You can hardly expect to see it all in one day.”

“Yeah, I guess,” she conceded. Then, she smiled again giving him a rather unexpected hug.

“Wh-what are you doing?!” he asked, stunned.

She pulled back. “Thanks for showing me around today. It was awesome.” She disappeared up the stairs before he could reply.

Arthur ran a hand through his already messy blonde hair. Damn Americans were all the same.

* * *

A/N: Posting multiple chapters as requested by my beta so she can re-read and know the characters again for edits.

Reviews are always welcome and appreciated. Until next time!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don’t own Hetalia. If I did, there would be a lot more pirate Arthur and his brothers would’ve made an appearance sooner.

* * *

There was a lot Arthur learned about Evelyn in the next few days. She disliked tea, but had nearly depleted his supply of hot chocolate; she was curious, but knew when to remain silent; she hated the French (a sentiment he couldn’t find fault with), but gave them credit when due, though he couldn’t think of an example off the top of his head; most of all, he learned she was an orphan.

The realization came about one day when he, once again, noticed her hand stray to her back pocket where she kept her wallet. The leather square was always with her even when she wasn’t going out that day. There were also times when she would just stare at the picture of her parents for hours, oblivious to the world around her.

From what France had told him, that picture was worth more to her than anything else and how that snail-eater knew any information of value he would never know.

Still, he couldn’t be entirely sure and so he asked her, “Shouldn’t you call someone and let them know you’re alive?”

Evelyn looked up from her book slightly panicked. “Oh my god! Jess and Nina are probably worried sick. I’ll go call them right now.” The girl jumped up and ran to the phone in the hall. It wasn’t long before he could hear nervous laughter and apologies.

The Englishman shook his head. She obviously had never considered what was going on at home, only her own situation like a typical American. The American entered the room again about twenty minutes later rubbing her neck sheepishly—his long distance bill would be hell this month.

“I have a cell phone plan specifically for out of country calls,” he told her setting down his tea. “It makes my home phone bill cheaper.”

“Heh, sorry Artie. You should’ve told me earlier.”

He nodded, asking politely, “How are your friends?”

“They’re a little peeved at me, but they understood.”

England raised an eyebrow. “You told them you were kidnapped?”

“God no!” She laughed curling herself back into her favorite armchair. “I told them it was a family emergency—my estranged uncles in Europe and stuff like that. I was just in such a rush that I forgot my phone.”

“What about your parents? Won’t they be worried as well?” He didn’t want to bring up the subject, but he had to know for sure.

Her smile disappeared entirely. She averted her gaze to look out the window, towards the sky, saying, “My parents aren’t around anymore; they haven’t been for a while.”

There was a small pang of guilt for bringing up her bad memories. He knew what it was like to lose someone close to you and he hated it when the others would ask if he was all right—he was damn it!—but he still couldn’t stop himself from replying, “I’m sorry.”

She turned back to him wearing a sad smile. “I’m used to it. Stupid counselors at school try to get me to talk all the time.” She shrugged. “I guess they just keep passing the file along hoping the next one will get something out of me.”

Arthur nodded. He didn’t believe in therapy. There were plenty of people before the concept of therapy had been conceived who dealt with and moved past their problems without paying someone a fortune. He told her as much adding, “You seem to be doing well enough without their help.”

“Thanks,” she smiled weakly some of her usual brightness shining through immediately followed by an annoyed expression. “Some people try to talk to me like they understand, but they don’t.”

“Precisely,” the Brit responded without thinking. “They believe by asking the same questions repeatedly they can solve a much deeper problem.”

He had never been to a psychologist, but the other nations had tried to fill that role; a certain Frenchman in particular had annoyed him to the point where he had stabbed the offending nation with a tea spoon—repeatedly and perhaps a little viciously.

“Exactly!” the American exclaimed gesturing wildly. “See, you get it.”

A moment of understanding passed between them. Arthur returned to his book while Evelyn went to the kitchen.

* * *

To Evelyn, Arthur was a mystery. His house was full of antiques and he acted like an old man, but he didn’t look that old—hell, he couldn’t even be in his late twenties. During the tour of the city, he would make a comment or answer one of her questions talking like he had _been_ there. It was strange and fascinating all at the same time.

Then again, he had a library overflowing with books of every kind. His history collection could rival that of the National Archives or the British History Museum. She suspected he was a somewhat closet history nerd—she would laugh her head off if she found out he did re-enactments in his spare time.

Perhaps the biggest mystery of all was the way he acted around her. It was as if he was searching for something, waiting for her to do something (though what she had no idea). He never smiled and there were times when his scowl only deepened—mostly during her more idiotic—what he called her “American”—moments.

There was one time in particular that really confused her. She couldn’t remember how the subject had come up, but she was telling the Brit a story about one time at a club. A drunkard would not leave Nina alone and, ever the quiet one, Nina had trouble telling him to go away.

Jessica had been on the dance floor and so it was up to Evelyn to help. She had told him in no uncertain terms to back off and he had responded rather crudely. Pissed as all hell, the shorter girl had responded by kicking him in the groin and giving him a bloody nose.

They had been thrown out, but Evelyn didn’t regret her actions. “Someone had to be the hero,” she remembered saying nonchalant.

Arthur, who had been asking the occasional question as he listened, had gone deathly silent. Putting down his teacup, he excused himself and left the room without another word. She hadn’t seen him for the rest of the day.

She did hear him though. Throughout the afternoon, she could hear muted crashes and thumps coming from his office. There was a brief lull around supper, but then the noise started up again; it didn’t sound as angry however; it was more rhythmic.

Evelyn stayed in her room listening to the sounds as she lay on her bed on her stomach, cheek resting on her crossed hands. She couldn’t help but think she had just done whatever it was the Englishman had been watching for.

Around nightfall, the noise stopped and she began to grow worried. The Englishman had sequestered himself in his study and hadn’t even come out for tea. Thinking he must be going through withdrawals, she made a cup of his favorite Earl Grey and knocked on the door.

“Artie?” No answer. She tried again knocking a little louder this time. “Artie, I made you some tea. Listen, I’m sorry about earlier. I don’t know what I said, but…” She tried the handle; it was surprisingly unlocked and so she let herself in.

Arthur was at his desk, head resting on one arm with the other outstretched holding what appeared to be an old-fashioned toy soldier. As silently as possible, she set the rapidly cooling tea at one corner and examined the sleeping Brit. Moonlight streamed through the window muting the colors of the room and highlighting the shadows under the Englishman’s eyes. His eyes were puffy, like he had been crying, but he looked content judging by the lack of a scowl; it was also probably the first good sleep he had in days if not longer. He mumbled something unintelligible and shifted minutely still holding onto the wooden soldier.

Evelyn rubbed the back of her neck and bit her lip. It didn’t seem right to see the uptight Englishman in such a vulnerable state. She didn’t want to wake him, but she couldn’t just leave him as is either.

Looking around the room, she spotted a neatly folded blanket sitting on the arm of a chair in the corner. Coming to a decision, she shook it out and gently laid it over Arthur’s shoulders being careful not to wake him; he stirred, but remained fast asleep.

Smiling to herself, Evelyn padded out closing the door quietly behind her.

* * *

A/N:

Reviews are much loved. Until next time!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: As everyone keeps reminding me, I don’t own Hetalia.

* * *

When he woke the next morning, he was stiff from being in such an awkward position all night. He laid the toy soldier to the side and stretched, his spine cracking loudly in the otherwise silent office, noticing the cold cup of Earl Grey on his desk.

Strange.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he thought back to the night before. The cup hadn’t been there when he came to his study and he hadn’t left to get one. If he had left his office, it would’ve been to get rum. He had been sorely disappointed to find the decanter in his office was empty, but he didn’t want to go out and get anything with his American guest around.

Especially if it looked like he had been _crying_—which he had most certainly not been doing, that would be ungentlemanly.

The spare blanket fell from his shoulders and the still slightly groggy England put two and two together. Evelyn must’ve come in last night; had she been worried?

He picked up the teacup and took it to the kitchen to rinse out. Evelyn hadn’t woken yet judging by the lack of dishes in the sink; it was an annoying habit of hers—she would rinse her dishes out, but leave them in the sink instead of putting them in the dishwasher.

Arthur sighed still stretching out all the kinks from the night. Realizing he never retrieved the mail from yesterday (and the American certainly wouldn’t pick it up), the Brit made his way to the front door pausing when he noticed his guest in the living room. He was about to wish her a good morning when he looked closer. There was a book open on her lap, but her eyes were closed and her breathing was regular. She was sprawled out on the couch with her head resting against the armrest, mouth slightly open, twitching occasionally as she slept. Arthur shook his head in wonder. He had given her a nice bed, her own room, and she had chosen to fall asleep on the old couch—well, she had no right to complain when she woke as sore and stiff as him.

“Sorry Iggy. I should’ve been here sooner.”

His whole body tensed. There was only one person who had ever called him that infernal nickname. For a fleeting instance, he had the overwhelming urge to lock himself in his office again, but no, it had been several years now and it was time to man up and move on.

He eyed the girl on his couch critically. The words had come from her mouth, but the tone and inflection, the apology, had been another person entirely…and it was a person he had been trying hard to forget. Perhaps it was time to face those memories head on.

Was France right? Could this girl be…? No it was better to squash all false hopes before they began.

He continued to retrieve the mail sorting quickly through it. Among the items was a small package labeled “Priority mail” which he opened shaking the contents into his palm. A little blue book fell out, the front bearing an Eagle clutching arrows and an olive branch in its talons—an American passport.

The Englishman flipped it open revealing the smiling face of Evelyn along with her information. Glancing through, he saw she had been to France once, but the book was empty otherwise. That piqued his interest; why go to a place when you claim to hate the culture?

He could always ask her later. Arthur turned back to her information where the birth date caught his eye: July 4. He felt like he had just been punched in the gut. England gripped the passport tightly leaning against the door to stay standing.

This didn’t mean anything, he told himself. There were plenty of children born every day, in America and around the world. There were probably dozens born on the fourth of July. It was just a large coincidence; it didn’t mean anything. He had her passport now. He could send her home and then all this foolishness would end.

Nodding to himself, he went to the living room intent on waking the American and telling her the news. When he saw her however, he wavered. She was tossing and turning mumbling in her sleep. The book fell to the floor with a dull thump, but she still didn’t wake. Arthur reached out hoping to stop her thrashing when she suddenly stilled breathing in short gasps.

“I’m sorry…Iggy.”

Arthur recoiled as if slapped while Evelyn jerked awake. That apology had sounded so full of regret, so sad, so _final_; it broke his heart all over again. His earlier resolve completely crumbled. He couldn’t send her away yet, not without knowing for certain.

Evelyn rubbed at her eyes, blinking away the last vestiges of her dreams, startling when she caught sight of her English host. “Oh! Mornin’ Artie.”

“It’s ‘morning’ not ‘mornin’. You should learn to enunciate and good morning to you as well.”

She rolled her eyes as she stretched. Then, as if realizing something, she turned to him seriously. “Hey, do you know if my passport has come in yet? It’s been about a week now.”

Arthur slipped the little book into his pocket casually keeping an indifferent mask so she wouldn’t detect the lie. “No, there’s been no sign of it yet. Things are quite busy however and there’s been no one to send for it.”

Evelyn gave a heavy sigh and then brightened suddenly. “I know! I’ll just call Jess and ask her to mail it to me.”

England found himself panicking a little. This girl actually had some intelligence unlike a certain other idiot. Thinking quickly, he reminded her of the lie she had told. “Didn’t you tell them you were staying with family overseas? Do you really wish to explain how you got here without your passport?”

“Aw crap, I forgot about that.” She seemed to deflate thinking about what he said. “I’ll just leave it up to you then.” She smiled stretching one last time before jumping up.

Arthur shook his head at her second-by-second mood swings.

“I’m going to make breakfast: eggs and bacon and toast. You want tea, right Artie?”

He followed her into the kitchen fingering the passport in his pocket. He felt guilty for lying to her, but it wasn’t as if she was unhappy here and he would send her home once he found the truth.

Evelyn busied herself with making breakfast taking it upon herself to start the water for his tea. Arthur sat at the table watching her. She did remind him an awful lot of another American, but there were some stark differences as well—their genders and heights the least of those differences.

“Here you go!” She placed a plate of food in front of him along with his tea, sitting opposite. The American dug in oblivious to the Brit’s internal struggle.

He took a sip of the tea and immediately spit it back out.

“What’s wrong?” Evelyn asked concerned.

Arthur looked at his teacup like it was a personal affront against nature. “How the bloody hell do you mess up tea?”

* * *

Evelyn continued asking about her passport over the next few days. Arthur kept up his lie keeping her attention elsewhere with visits into the city and his personal collection of books. She was quite persistent however and it was beginning to wear down the Brit.

Her passport was actually sitting in the top drawer of his desk underneath a stack of papers. England checked it every morning always debating about whether he was doing the right thing. In the end, he would always slam the drawer shut once more and return to his daily tasks.

After one such time, he exited his office to find one of his least favorite nations sitting at his kitchen table. France sipped at a glass of wine seeming to ignore the English nation whose house he had so casually invaded.

“What are you doing here frog?” Arthur snapped.

“Why, _mon cher_, I simply came to check up on you and _petite Amérique_.”

The Englishman stomped into the kitchen. He wanted a drink, but he would be a gentleman and settle for tea. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business.”

Francis shrugged. “I was the one who found her.”

“And then promptly dumped her on my doorstep!”

They could hear Evelyn coming down the stairs; the only time she was quiet was when she was reading. “Hey Artie, I heard yelling and…” She saw the Frenchman sitting at the table and was immediately pissed.

Arthur was always amazed how quickly her moods could change and there was never any warning. She was much like the sea in that aspect, constantly changing—one minute as calm and smooth as glass only for the peace to be shattered moments later by a sudden tempest. How he missed the sea; the old pirate never had to be a gentleman for her.

“Oi! French fry!” Evelyn yelled glaring at Francis. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you!”

France smiled placing a hand over his heart. “_Moi_?” he asked innocently. “I couldn’t imagine why.”

She stomped up and got in his face placing her hands on her hips. “You know perfectly well why! Who do you think you are randomly kidnapping people like that especially when they’ve shown you a bit of hospitality?”

“I was merely returning the favor _ma petite_.” France replied simply.

“And how do you figure that?”

“If I had not, then you would not have met _Angleterre_.” Francis took a sip of wine grinning in that way of his. He leaned in close until he could whisper in her ear saying, “You seemed most grateful when I returned your wallet _ma chere_, why so angry now?” The Frenchman blew into her ear and Evelyn backpedaled, face a deep crimson as she covered both ears.

“Th-th-that’s not the point!” she managed to stutter out.

France got up from his seat moving back into the girl’s personal space as he leaned in close. “Why so flustered _ma petite_?” He tilted her head up with one finger; her blush deepened.

A cookbook collided with the Frenchman’s head. “Leave her alone frog,” Arthur threatened one hand straying to more lethal projectiles while using his other to sip his tea.

Evelyn took her chance and bolted back upstairs.

France straightened rubbing at the new lump on the side of his head. “So mean, _Angleterre_.”

“Go be a pervert somewhere else Francis. I’m not in the mood to deal with you.” England sipped at his tea listening as the American stomped around upstairs obviously upset.

France sat back at the table picking up his wineglass once more. “So you believe she is _Amérique_?”

“I’m not sure what I believe,” England sighed.

Francis looked at him with a quirked eyebrow. “_Vraiment_? I thought you would’ve sent her home by now if you weren’t convinced.”

Arthur stared into his teacup as if it would hold all the answers. “I just don’t know anymore, Francis. I had accepted that _he_ was dead and now there’s Evelyn and she acts so much like _him_ and yet…” he ran a hand through his already messy hair, sighing again, “I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

The Frenchman set his glass to the side picking up on his friend’s melancholy. “Fear not _Angleterre_,” he said trying to help the English nation’s mood. “Have I ever steered you wrong?”

Arthur scowled. “Several times,” he growled. “Shall I start listing them chronologically or alphabetically?”

“Oh, how you wound me!” Francis declared dramatically.

“Get out frog before I find something more lethal to throw and maim you with.”

A casual observer might take that threat jokingly, but France had known the shorter nation for a long time and he had no doubt the Englishman would follow through; Francis shuddered as he remembered Arthur’s pirating days.

He swiftly took his leave.

* * *

A/N:

Did you know French fries are actually from Belgium? Random trivia for the day.

Reviews are always appreciated. Until next time!


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I still don’t own Hetalia. However, I will have fun with the characters.

* * *

Arthur read his book in his chair enjoying the relative quiet as Evelyn flipped through the movie channels looking for something to watch. The evening wore on and the sun sank below the horizon no longer offering the natural light the Brit preferred. He reached up turning on the lamp in the corner.

As he did so, his eyes were drawn towards the television screen. Somehow, the girl had found a channel showing an American horror movie. On screen, an attractive teenaged-girl was making her way down a dimly lit hallway, the overhead lights flickering ominously. Arthur sighed. These movies were all so predictable. In a minute, the lights would die completely and the monster/ghost would appear and kill her; the cycle would continue through the rest of the movie leaving only one couple alive and a teaser for a equally bad, if not worse, sequel.

_Who could ever be scared by such rubbish?_ Arthur thought absently before turning back to his book.

As predicted, a scream came from the television speakers. However, it was immediately followed by another one and a pair of hands clutching to his arm. The Brit jumped at the sudden contact nearly dropping his book. When he settled, he looked down to find Evelyn holding to his arm for dear life (and her grip was much stronger than he would’ve given her credit for) trembling with eyes closed in fear. She must’ve launched herself at him from the couch when the ghost appeared seeking the closest source of comfort—why she chose him, he had no idea.

He opened his mouth to tell her to get off, but paused. The American girl was kneeling by his chair trying to make herself as small as possible, still trembling. She was biting her lip cutely, in a childish way, and hiding her head in the small space between the back of the chair and the armrest.

“Bloody hell,” he sighed with no real heat behind it.

“I’m sorry,” Evelyn apologized, the words muffled by the chair. “I thought I could handle it this time, I really did. Nina said this one wasn’t bad, so I thought…I’m sorry.” Her grip still hadn’t lessened on his arm however; he was glad he didn’t bruise easily.

The Brit set his book to the side marking his place first. First things first, she had to let go of his arm. Hesitantly, he laid a hand on her shoulder in a comforting gesture. “Evelyn, why don’t you move back to the couch?” It wasn’t really a question, but he didn’t think yelling at her would help the situation in the least.

The terrified college student shook her head adamantly. “But Artie…it’s scary…”

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. What had he done to deserve this? “How about if I move with you?” He didn’t even notice his voice changing, taking on the natural paternal tone that had developed during his Empire days. “I can’t turn off the movie from over here and certainly not with you clutching my arm like that.”

Evelyn thought about it then nodded slowly.

Carefully, Arthur stood half-dragging the girl and moved over to the couch hitting the power button on the remote as they sat down. Evelyn curled up in a tight ball next to him. The Brit stiffened at the even closer contact, but forced himself to relax; if he was on edge, she would never calm down.

Awkwardly, he rubbed small, soothing circles into her back cursing the reminder of another American he used to care for. Unsure what else to do, he began to sing. The song was an old lullaby, but that wasn’t all that important; what was important was the low, calming tone he sang it in never once pausing in his comforting motions.

Gradually, the American’s iron grip loosened and her eyes closed as if weighed with lead though she fought to keep them open. Her whole body relaxed and she slumped limply against him, breathing regular.

Arthur sang a few more bars to make sure she was truthfully asleep. Careful so as not to wake her, he extricated himself from her now slack hold gently laying her down. Taking the quilt from the back of the couch, he tucked her in pushing back a stray strand of blonde hair tickling her nose.

His breath caught in his throat. She reminded him so much of _him_, it pained his heart. Every memory he had pushed away, all the time he had spent trying to forget—it was all for nothing. France had claimed she was the new America. If he was wrong, then the English nation would remind his old rival just how fearsome the former British Empire could be.

The Englishman whispered a “Sleep well” to the peaceful American and retreated to his own bed.

* * *

Evelyn’s episodes had been few and far between since she arrived, none had been anything of consequence. However, her dreams had continued without fail every night; Arthur could sometimes hear her mumbling in her sleep.

The Brit did wonder about her infrequent episodes. If what the Frenchman said was true and her episodes were related to America, then the girl should be having _more_ of her blackouts the more time she spent with him. Perhaps he had just been lucky so far.

And then his luck ran out.

Evelyn lay on her stomach in the Englishman’s library/study a variety of historical texts spread around her. She would flip between the pages in no discernible order taking notes in a notebook she had borrowed (stolen) from him. At one point, she flipped to a map of the old Atlantic trade routes. Suddenly, she stilled.

Arthur looked up from his paperwork at his desk. Her eyes were glazed, her head tilted slightly to the side. Then her finger started to trace the route from London to Boston absently.

“Hey England, have you really traveled all over the world?”

The nation didn’t know what to do. “Evelyn?” he asked concerned.

He recognized that bright, idiotic smile that seemed to take up her entire face and the excitement in her eyes at the prospect of adventure. “I want to travel all over someday too, just like you!”

England remembered this conversation. He had been teaching his new colony geography adding in stories of his own experiences (minus his piratical endeavors of course) and the young nation had become excited over the prospect of perhaps accompanying his guardian on a voyage one day.

“Maybe Mattie could come too. I’d hafta protect him ‘cause he would get scared though.”

Even then, he had tried to be the hero. As far as England knew, Canada had never been afraid of sailing, but the elder twin would always claim he had to protect his brother. Arthur got up from his desk going to kneel beside the clearly oblivious American. He rested a hand on her back and she jumped, the haze clearing from her eyes.

“Ar-Artie!” she exclaimed startled. “Damn it.” She rubbed at her eyes irritably; the insult wasn’t aimed at her host. “I thought I was getting better.” Evelyn jumped to her feet surprising Arthur and almost knocking him off-balance.

“Are you okay?” the Brit asked also standing.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just fine.” She gathered up the books awkwardly not meeting his eyes. Arthur had learned early on the girl didn’t like talking about her episodes, but this one seemed to have her agitated for some reason.

“Do you remember any of it?” On the one hand, he wasn’t sure if he wanted her to remember, but it was the only reason he could determine for her current mood.

“No, I never can,” she replied distractedly. The American fixed her ponytail nervously, biting her lip. She would tell him what was bothering her soon; he just had to be patient. “I been to a lot of doctors since my episodes started, but none of them can find anything wrong with me. The psychologists think it’s some sort of PTSD, but it came a whole lot later, so it can’t be that.”

She must be referring to her parents’ deaths though Arthur didn’t know the exact details.

“I thought I was getting better,” she continued rambling. “I mean, since I’ve been here, I only had that one really bad episode and that’s when I first got here! I still have my dreams, but everyone dreams, so that’s not that big of a deal and then this happens! I don’t know why I’m even bothered by it anymore; I gave up on trying to figure it out a long time ago.”

The Brit had listened to her rant as she paced the room uncertain how to deal with a frantic American girl. After all, the last time turned out so well.

“You know what, forget it. I’m going to make some lunch. You hungry?” She all but raced from the room. Arthur followed her soon after.

He watched her closer after that waiting for the next episode. It came not long after. Evelyn had come across the wooden toy soldier. The paint was almost completely faded, but some detail could still be determined such as the uniform. Arthur had made each soldier himself hurting his hand in the process, but it was worth it when he had seen his boy’s smile. Now it was just a reminder of things he had lost.

The English nation found his guest on her knees in the middle of the hall. She was holding the toy loosely in both hands, her eyes glazed over like the last time. Her mouth opened and he listened filling in the missing pieces with his own memories.

When Evelyn came back to the present, she looked at the toy in her hands, then to Arthur, confused. The Brit shook his head taking the wooden soldier from her sadly. He didn’t want to talk about it and the American felt it wouldn’t be good to ask.

* * *

She was bored. Scratch that, she was _beyond_ bored. Arthur had returned to work and she felt guilty knowing he had taken time off because of her, but he had also left her alone in the house; it was raining, so she couldn’t just go for a walk.

Evelyn huffed, retreating back upstairs to her room passing one of the few doors Arthur always kept closed. She paused. He had said it led to the attic; he also said his family had lived here for as long as he could remember, so there had to be something of interest up there.

She opened the door and flicked on the light as she ascended. At the top, she took a quick look around smiling triumphantly.

Arthur’s attic was a literal goldmine.

* * *

When he got home, there was no sign of the ever-present American. He called her name a couple times and received no response. His heart beat a little faster; he would never admit he was worried, after all, she hadn’t been here long enough for him to get attached.

Nevertheless, he climbed the stairs quickly (he did not run) to check the guest room only to find the attic door open. Now worried for entirely different reasons, Arthur went up relieved to find the American and annoyed that she was rifling through his things.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”

She looked up from a chest of things from the Victorian Era grinning excitedly. “Heya Artie. How was work?”

“Normal unlike everything else at the moment. Now answer the question!”

“I was bored and curious. Do you even know what you have up here? Museums would kill for some of these things and you’re holding them hostage in your attic. I mean, seriously!”

He knew perfectly well what his attic contained, and she wasn’t the first to suggest he donate some of it to museums, but they were his things damn it! His memories—good and bad—and he could never part with any of it.

Something metallic glinted in the harsh light of the bare bulb. It was enough to catch Evelyn’s attention. Pulling something long and thin from between two boxes, she whispered in some awe, “This can’t be real…”

Arthur examined the object. To him, it wasn’t all that impressive: a simple black sheath serving as home for a cutlass, the golden hilt now tarnished with age. Engraved into the cross guard, he knew, were the words _A Gentleman Pirate_; it had been a gift from the monarch of the time.

Evelyn grasped the hilt; the blade rasped against the sheath as she drew it from its resting place. Gleaming dully in the artificial light, the sword still held traces of its old deadly elegance. “This is a captain’s sword,” she declared confidently. She looked at it closely running one finger over every inch until she found the engraving. “A _pirate_ captain’s sword,” she corrected herself, eyes lighting up further if that were possible.

“Do you have an interest in pirates?” Arthur asked a little hesitantly.

“Are you kidding? Pirates are awesome! Especially English pirates.” She posed dramatically, sword held at an imaginary enemy’s throat. “Taking down the Spanish Armada, claiming Mastery of the Seas,” she continued punctuating each point with a different pose, “sailing to the far corners of the world looting and plundering, building a reputation feared by merchants and Royal Navy alike.”

He leaned against the doorframe. If she only knew what kind of reputation he had. The corner of his lips twisted upwards as he remembered.

“So you can smile.” She stood with the sword at her side, grinning foolishly. “I was beginning to think you were a grumpy old man all the time.”

Arthur scowled again in irritation. “I’m not old.”

She pointed the sword at him still grinning. “Aye, you are! And I, Captain Summers, will make you walk the plank. To the Locker you grumpy old landlubber!”

The girl obviously had a romanticized view of pirates propagated by those American movies and modern culture. Perhaps he would show her what a true pirate could do…

His eyes darkened fractionally as he moved, side stepping the blade and grabbing her wrist, pulling her off balance. He followed with a swift kick to behind the knees jerking the blade from her hand as she was sprawled on the floor. Moving in front of her, he set the tip of the blade just beyond the edge of her nose so she went cross-eyed looking at it.

“No one threatens Captain Kirkland, especially with his own bloody sword.”

Evelyn looked truly frightened now. He had knocked the wind out of her and her breath came in shallow gasps, eyes never leaving the blade. She would never last in a real battle. Arthur pushed his pirate side away resting the sword at his side as he offered her a hand up. She took it cautiously; almost afraid she would provoke him again.

In a spur of the moment decision, he reversed the blade and held it out to her. The American looked at him questioningly and he nodded in encouragement. She grasped the hilt once more and he moved behind her placing a hand over her own as he adjusted her grip.

“You were holding it wrong. The sword should be an extension of your body; a fall like that shouldn’t have disarmed you so easily.”

He pulled back and watched as she swung the weapon experimentally testing the new grip. She smiled and his lips quirked upward at her joy.

After about another minute, she retrieved the sheath and put the sword away laying it almost ceremoniously on top of the trunk she had been perusing before.

“I wonder what else is up here,” she mused choosing to ignore his abrupt personality switch for the time being.

“All manner of things I would imagine.”

She went to another trunk kneeling as she opened the lid. Arthur caught a flash of red, the wood and metal of a musket…

He rushed to the trunk slamming the lid back down. Evelyn, startled, jumped up and back. The Brit was breathing heavily, once more trying to push down those painful memories and afraid of what would happen if the girl had actually seen that coat and musket. Would she have another episode? Would she even remember if she did?

“Artie, are you okay?” she reached a hand out as if to lay it on his shoulder in comfort. He turned quickly brushing it away though not unkindly.

“Perfectly. I think we’ve had enough of these old memories for one day. I’m sure you must be starving by now.”

Her stomach grumbled an affirmative and she blushed. “Can we get hamburgers?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. What was with Americans and bloody hamburgers?

* * *

A/N:

Reviews are always loved and appreciated.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don’t own it. Never have, probably never will.

* * *

Arthur was beginning to worry. His ever present and curious guest was nowhere to be found. She had been acting strange this morning eating his cooking with little to no complaint; then again, she hardly ate preferring to pick at her food while staring into space and then disappearing afterwards. It was past dinner time now and he still hadn’t seen her and, if he only knew one thing about Evelyn, she never missed a meal.

He ascended the stairs pausing outside her room. The door was cracked open and he could hear faint sniffling from inside.

“Evelyn?” he called softly pushing open the door.

The sniffling stopped. “Hey Artie, what’s up?” she asked voice quivering as she tried, and failed, to sound like her normal cheerful self. She was sitting at an angle on her bed hiding something behind her back; her eyes were puffy and rimmed with red.

Arthur leaned against the door frame crossing his arms and effectively pinning her in the room. “You haven’t been yourself today.” He began, prodding at her gently for information.

“Ah, well, you know, just didn’t sleep well last night,” she attempted to brush him off.

He cocked an eyebrow at her while looking pointedly at the hand hidden behind her.

Evelyn bit her lip and pulled out the picture she always carried running one finger down the edge thoughtfully. “You’ve lost someone too, haven’t you Artie?” Her voice held a distant air to it.

The Brit stiffened, hands curling into fists at the words. “Why do you assume that?” he asked defensively as he held back from hissing at her.

“There are times when I point out something or ask about something, you get this far away look in your eyes and you try to avoid the subject.” Her voice took on an aggressive tone as she tried to verbally make him retreat. “Also, sometimes when you’re talking to me, it’s like you’re remembering someone else.” She stared at him fighting the tears as he wouldn’t meet her eye.

“Yes, I have, but it was a long time ago.” Arthur’s voice was distant, defeated, as he forced out the words.

Evelyn nodded looking again at the picture and sniffling at the change in his tone. She had wanted aggression, anger, anything to help her forget. She had never wanted to hurt him—not the one who cared and looked after her as if she was his own family. She looked away from him. “They say that time heals all wounds, but I disagree.” She took a shuddering breath before trudging on. “It only numbs you to the pain, makes it bearable, but it never fully heals.” Her eyes grew misty as she looked back at him desperate for his emerald eyes to meet hers. “My parents died when I was twelve, on this date. They left me at home by myself to go out to dinner. We had a neighbor across the street who would check up on me, brought me dinner and stuff. When my parents were coming back, they were hit by a drunk driver at the intersection. My dad died on impact. Mom wasn’t so lucky.” She sniffled rolling her eyes back and looking to the ceiling in a desperate attempt to stop the hot tears from spilling over.

Arthur froze, eyes still not meeting Evelyn’s, but he was no longer on the retreat; no longer running from the girl who he was beginning to understand was pleading for someone to stay, not demanding space alone. He moved his head looking at her through his bangs. He had always wondered what exactly happened to her parents, but he wasn’t one to pry especially about something as sensitive as this.

“Our neighbor drove me to the hospital,” the girl continued her breath hitching as she continued to fight off tears. “When we got there…” she started choking as one does in pain of the heart begins to show itself in the clogging of the throat and nasal passages, “there was nothing they could do for her.” Her voice grew thicker as she began to lose her fight. “They tried to make me leave, but I wouldn’t. There wasn’t anyone else, so I sat and held her hand as she died.” Three fat drops slid down her cheeks before she tilted her head down and took a controlling breath. “My grief counselor was the one who told me about time and pain.” She looked to him. “Maybe we both just have problems letting things go.” She attempted a smile at him, but it was broken in all the wrong places. His heart gave a clench in pain as old memories of blue eyes threatened to surface.

Evelyn wiped away the tears, her breath calming as she shared her pain with him and gained strength from it. “I usually visit their graves just to talk to them you know?” She looked away from him and out the window. “I carry around this picture so I can remember them how they were and not…not what I last saw them as.” This time her smile, though not as extravagant as normal, was genuine and laced with hope as she looked at him. Their eyes met for a moment. A new pain made its way into her heart when he looked away from her, pain dancing in his eyes.

Arthur felt guilty. It was because of him she couldn’t visit her parents’ graves like normal. Perhaps he was being selfish keeping her here, delaying giving her the passport, but then she had stopped asking for it as well. Blue eyes flashed in his mind again as an “Artie” echoed through his mind. He took a deep breath steeling himself. He could nothing about the…he could help Evelyn.

He crossed the short space to her side resting a hand on her shoulder while looking out the window. “He would’ve liked you.”

She looked at him quizzically glad he hadn’t fled from her in her moment of cruelty towards him.

“The one I lost. You…remind me a lot of him.” His voice was soft, quiet, almost not even there, but it was steady and smooth. It was pain diluted by time. It was a pain that would never leave yet would become more bearable.

Unexpectedly, she hugged him, her fresh tears welling up and soaking through his shirt. The Englishman patted her back awkwardly. He paused just as awkwardly not knowing how to deal with this…or did he?

“How about some tea?” He spoke gently placing a hand on her head for a second before moving it.

Evelyn made a face.

“I’ll make hot chocolate for you. Honestly, you Americans can’t appreciate a good cup of tea.”

She made a sound that was between a laugh and a sob, but it was still an improvement and, for some reason, it made him feel better. This was right.

* * *

A/N: Happy Halloween! Here are three chapters for you.

Remember, reviews are loved and appreciated. Until next time!


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Nope, I don’t own Hetalia.

* * *

She didn’t know when she gave up trying to go outside alone; she just knew Arthur always seemed to be there when she tried. It wasn’t like she was a hostage either, no, it was more like the Brit was _afraid_ to let her out of his sight. She appreciated the fact someone cared about her well-being, but his constant presence was becoming a bit stifling.

A few days previous, he had taken her to the library after already exhausting the Englishman’s rather extensive one. She had taken the time to email her friends as well sticking with the excuse of a family emergency. She didn’t know why she lied. Maybe she just didn’t want to worry them…or maybe, she admitted to herself, she just didn’t want to leave yet.

No matter how much she complained about the amount of school she was missing or her acting like a prisoner, like it wasn’t her choice, she was only here because she didn’t have a passport or the money…no, the truth was, being around Arthur was peaceful. It was the most peace she had found since she had lost her parents and she didn’t want to lose it just yet.

That didn’t mean she didn’t miss her freedom. She had also taken the chance with computer access to search for a club nearby. She just needed the chance to let loose for a while, without her temporary guardian around, and a night out at a club was just what the doctor ordered.

Evelyn went to bed early waiting, fully dressed under her covers, until she heard Arthur go to his room then an hour more so he should be firmly asleep. As silently as she was able, she crept down the stairs skipping the one that always creaked and went outside locking the door with the spare key under the flower pot.

She sat on the stoop and put on her boots still listening for any sign that Arthur had heard her. Determining it safe, the American walked to the club humming absently to herself.

* * *

The Ruins was a hub of activity. Evelyn sat at the bar letting the music pulse through her and sipping on a Coke as she watched the crowd. She had never been to a club without her friends and she was beginning to think it wasn’t such a good idea. She didn’t have anyone to watch her back in case of trouble so she couldn’t enjoy herself fully.

A guy slid into the seat next to her and ordered a drink. “You here by yourself?” he asked raising his voice to be heard over the music. He didn’t have a British accent—a tourist then or a student.

“No, my friends are on the dance floor.” If he knew she was lying, he might try something and she definitely didn’t want that.

“Really? So then why are you over here?” His tone implied he knew she was lying, but he was trying to be friendly.

She spared him a look. He wasn’t half bad: short spiky brown hair and brown eyes with a genuine smile; built, but not overly so. “Yeah, and what about you?”

“My wingman ditched me after he found his own girl.”

“That’s one of the worst lines I’ve ever heard,” she laughed.

“Nah, I got worse ones, but that one’s the truth.” He stuck out his hand. “Mark.”

She took it. “Evelyn.”

“I like it.” He hopped down from the stool and sketched a bow. “Would you like to dance Miss Evelyn?”

“I don’t know. Clowns aren’t really my type.”

He put a hand over his heart dramatically. “You wound me! All I wish is for a dance from the prettiest girl at the ball.”

She couldn’t help it. Evelyn burst out laughing as she took his hand and led him onto the floor. Her heart beat in time with the bass and Mark allowed her to lead resting his hands lightly on her hips. She put one hand against his neck and let herself go. The music and energy of the crowd fueled her and they went from one song to the next with neither talking nor passing that invisible, uncomfortable boundary.

Finally, they pulled apart. Both were slightly out of breath, but it felt good and Evelyn wasn’t ready to go home yet.

“I need a drink,” said Mark leaving the question hanging.

“Yeah, me too.”

“Wait here, I’ll get it.” He slipped away finding the easiest path through the crowd.

Before she could catch her breath, someone grabbed her hand and spun her moving her through the crowd effortlessly. When she was let go, the back of her knees bumped against a booth seat and she fell into it too dizzy to remain standing.

She looked across the table where a familiar face sat.

“Oh, _hell_ no!”

Francis simply winked raising his glass in a toast. Evelyn tried to stand, to walk away, but another hand grabbed the back of her shirt and pulled her down.

“Relax girly, we just wanted to talk.”

She turned to face the speaker. It was an albino, his German accent not quite what she was used to. Directly across from her was a Spaniard; he had been the one who had spun her across the floor.

“And what makes you think I want to talk to you?” she retorted.

“Because I’m the awesome Pru-Gilbert!” he corrected himself at the last second.

“Prugilbert?” she teased crossing her arms. “That’s a strange name.”

He took a swig of his beer flipping her off.

Rolling her eyes, she asked, “What were you going to say, before you corrected yourself?”

“I’m the awesome Prussia!” he declared proudly.

Evelyn looked to Francis questioningly.

“Think of it as a nickname _ma chere_.”

“Okay, why do they call you Prussia and why do you think you’re awesome?” She inquired turning her attention back to the albino.

“Haven’t you ever heard of Prussia?” he asked incredulously.

She ran a finger idly around the rim of a glass Francis had pushed her way. “Historically, yes. Prussia was once a small Germanic state which quickly expanded through conquest. Its biggest opposition was Austria-Hungary which was overcome during the time of Otto von Bismarck who was a real political badass. It hasn’t been a country in years though; not since before World War I when the Germanic states unified and became Germany, so my question still stands.”

They stared at her.

The American shrugged. “I’m a history major.” She thought about it for a minute. “Oh, I get it. You were cool at one time, but now you’re just part of something else—in short, history.”

Gilbert choked on his beer overdramatically while Francis and the Spaniard laughed.

“I like her,” the Spaniard managed to get out. “_Me llamo_ Antonio. Nice to meet you.” He added a playful wink to the end of his introduction.

“Evelyn. Now, if you don’t mind, I was actually enjoying myself until you kidnapped me,” she threw a look at Francis, “again.”

* * *

France had seen her at the bar and had watched as she danced with the boy. He had pointed her out to Prussia and Spain telling them about his suspicions about who she truly was.

“America? No way,” Prussia had immediately shot it down.

“I have to agree with him on this one, _mi_ _amigo_,” Spain said. “She doesn’t seem anything like that idiot.”

“Talk to her yourself,” France challenged. Spain and Prussia shared a look before the former went to get her, spinning the American at a dizzying pace through the throng.

She held her own well against Prussia not realizing just how close to the truth she was. France was positive that this girl was America, but England was being difficult. The English nation was afraid—afraid to hope, afraid that she might disappear—just in case she wasn’t who they thought…but he was also afraid of what would happen if she regained all of America’s memories.

Francis couldn’t help but sigh every time he thought about that. Everyone could see just how much Arthur had been hurt with the lost of the American nation, but the Brit would never admit to it. Evelyn had become something of a replacement, and Francis believed the girl thought more of Arthur than even she knew, but the Englishman was still afraid. If she regained all of America’s memories, would she leave?

Evelyn turned to leave flinging one last insult over her shoulder, but she paused on the edge of her seat giving the flashing lights rapt attention.

Prussia went to prod her, but France stopped him.

“Watch_ mon ami_.” He had seen her eyes glaze over—the prelude to one of her episodes. She didn’t disappoint him. Within the next few seconds, she began to speak, but her words weren’t her own and the three nations couldn’t help but listen.

“Hey Iggy, it’s the fourth of July.” She paused and France stopped the other two from answering. “Well, I was just thinking, if you ignore all the other stuff, those flares kind of look like fireworks.” She laughed nervously. “I never thought I would spend my birthday in a hole, but you’ve been here longer than me, huh? Never mind, I shouldn’t have brought it up.” She sounded so dejected, but the next moment she smiled saying, “Thanks Iggy.”

Evelyn blinked as the memory faded falling back against the seat. She looked between the three of them before asking, “What did I say?”

“You don’t remember?” Antonio asked.

She shook her head. “I never can. My friends always have to keep track of it; I have a whole journal at home filled with random half conversations. Damn it, why am I even asking? I gave up trying to figure it out a while ago.”

Francis still told her what she said. Gilbert looked to him asking for an explanation, but the Frenchman waved him off; he would explain later.

The American rubbed her eyes tiredly. “I’ve had that one before during the actual fourth of July. Scared Jessica…tried to rush me to the hospital…”

“Does Arthur know where you are?” France asked already knowing the answer.

She stiffened, not meeting his gaze. “I’m an adult and he’s not my dad. I don’t have to tell him anything.”

Then why did she sound like a kid caught doing something they shouldn’t? _He_ had sounded like that through much of the Revolution. Prussia and Spain recognized it as well from their dealings with the idiotic American during World Meetings.

Prussia slung an arm around her shoulders. “Come on America, we’ll walk ya back.”

“It’s _Evelyn_,” she snapped. “Geez, just because I’m American doesn’t mean you can call me that and you don’t have to take me back. I don’t need a babysitter.”

“_Oui_, but it can get dangerous at night.” France reminded her.

“And that just shows how awesome I am.”

She rolled her eyes, but allowed them to lead her from the club.

* * *

Evelyn got up the next morning thinking she had successfully snuck out and came back without Arthur knowing. Said Brit was sitting at the table when she went downstairs reading the paper, a cup of tea sitting by his elbow.

She poured a bowl of cereal and sat across from him.

“Good morning,” he greeted her, amusement all too evident in his voice. “Have a good night?”

Her spoon splashed back in the bowl. He _knew_. The bastard knew and he had let her go. Evelyn cursed and then asked, “How?”

He folded the paper setting it aside. There was the hint of a smile on his face. “I’m a light sleeper,” his brow furrowed in annoyance, “and the frog called.”

She cursed again.

Arthur sipped at his tea as Evelyn returned to her cereal, pouting.

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A/N:

Reviews are loved and appreciated as always. Until next time!


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don’t own Hetalia.

* * *

England sat at his desk late one evening sifting through reports ranging from the economy to international relations. Evelyn was lying on the floor lazily kicking her feet; she had come in earlier, most likely bored which had resulted with her trying, and failing, to annoy the grumpy Brit. At the moment, she was tapping her fingers against the wood floor in a random ever-changing tune.

Arthur was re-discovering he could ignore almost anything as long as he forced himself to focus on work.

The American sighed and gave up her tapping. She was _incredibly_ bored. The original idea had been to get a rise out of her temporary guardian since it always proved entertaining, but, so far, all that happened was her being ignored.

“Artie?” she tried for his attention.

He continued to ignore her scratching away busily with his pen.

“_Aarrrtiiieee_,” she whined rather pathetically rolling over onto her back. Arthur’s eye twitched as he continued working. There was a shuffling sound as Evelyn wiggled on the floor stretching out to reach something under his desk. There was more scuffling and more wiggling as she moved back to the original spot. Silence reigned in the room before pressure was pushed on the calf of Arthur’s leg and click sounded throughout the room. The motion and sound repeated again and again and again until…

Arthur slammed his pen down leveling a glare at Evelyn that sent most sane men running. Of course, Evelyn wasn’t a man nor was she proving her sanity at the moment. Evelyn just grinned triumphantly.

“For the love of _God_, what?!” He all but hissed at her fangs bared and eyes an eerie livid green.

She tilted her head back to look at him completely unfazed by his wrath. “You do know it’s the twenty-first century right?” She asked an overly innocent look on her face.

Arthur furrowed his brow in confusion. Of course he knew what century it was; he was centuries old. He told her as much, anger dissipating at the random question, wondering what would prompt such an inquiry, and if he was going to regret not telling her about Patrick’s gaming systems.

“Okay, so do you even know what a computer _is_?”

The Englishman pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, Evelyn, I do.” His voice was a groan of a man answering what color green was.

“Then why don’t you have one? Come on Artie, all that paperwork would be so much easier with even a dinosaur desktop not to mention e-mail. You wouldn’t have to lug so many papers home every day and you have to think about the green movement. I mean, do you know how many trees you’re killing?” He gave her a blank look. Didn’t she realize they used trees for everything—homes and, in the olden days, ships?

A Cheshire cat grin was plastered on her face as she turned to him. She was trying to get a rise out of him by calling him an old man in a roundabout way. The worst part was she was succeeding (not with the old, but the being annoying part). What had he done to deserve this? Yes, he had constantly been warring with France and he hadn’t treated Spain all that kindly after the whole thing with the Armada, and maybe a few things during his imperial days, but surely this…this new American annoyance was punishment far beyond what he deserved. The first one had been bad enough!

He periodically enjoyed the arguments he had with Evelyn. They were relaxing in a strange kind of way with their sense of familiarity.

“I don’t need a computer.” He responded with a sigh. “Even if I owned one, most of this paperwork would still be printed out for me to sign regardless.”

“Tree killer,” she muttered loud enough for him to hear, a grin on her face.

Arthur turned back to his papers retorting with an affectionate “Bloody git.”

A few more minutes passed in the warm atmosphere before Evelyn took out her iPod and put in the ear buds. Now maybe he could finish his work in peace.

He finished a few more documents before rubbing his eyes tiredly. The conversation had reminded him about something he had picked up for the American and now was as good a time as any to give it to her—maybe she would even leave him alone once she had it.

Opening up a desk drawer, he took out a small rectangular plastic object tossing it to Evelyn. She caught it after fumbling with it holding it up for examination.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“A mobile. I expect someone from your generation to know what that is.” Arthur responded mocking her a bit from the earlier conversation.

She rolled her eyes. “We call it a cell phone. Why are you giving it to me? What if you get a call from work?” Evelyn was honestly curious. She had been phoneless for just over a month now, but she hadn’t needed a cell since she’d been in London either. She just used the house phone to call her friends or sent them an e-mail whenever she had computer access at the library. Arthur sputtered indignantly.

“In case you need to contact me and I’m not around; I’ve already put all the necessary numbers in it. Like I would give you my work phone.” He grumbled to himself.

It had been a spur of the moment decision to buy her the phone, really. He had worried (only a little) when she snuck out a few nights previous and the streets could be dangerous at night. Now, if something did happen, she could contact him or he could find her.

“Oh. Thanks Artie.” She flashed him a smile starting to play and discovering its limited capabilities i.e. no internet. “Hey, were you ever a dad?” she asked suddenly and rather off-handedly.

Arthur jerked at her voice before freezing, comprehending what she had said. She had caught him completely off-guard. Images of a blue-eyed little boy briefly flashed before his eyes. He took a deep breath attempting to sound normal despite his still rapidly beating heart. “Why do you ask?” He busily shuffled his papers on his desk to distract himself.

“Um, because you act all parental even though you can’t be that much older than me.” Evelyn seemed to notice a change in Arthur and she put her phone in her pocket. She turned her attention to him and took notice of his frenzied motion, his stiff shoulders.

_If she only knew_, he mused that blue-eyed child turning to face him with a beautiful smile. Focus old boy, now how was he going to answer Evelyn? It wasn’t like the relationships between nations worked the same as human ones. The echoes of _Big Brother_ echoed through his mind. No, nation relations were definitely different. _I’ll be the hero and kick Nazi ass, you watch me Iggy. I’ll be your hero._ The voice continued to echo.

Evelyn’s constant mood swings saved him not only from the question, but from his memories which were playing havoc with him.

“I’m exhausted,” she yawned jumping up from her spot on the floor. “Night Artie.”

The Brit stared in disbelief as the American went to her room. She had done nothing but annoy him all day. How the hell could _she_ be tired?

He needed a cup of tea.

* * *

A/N: I posted three chapters today. Happy Halloween!

As always, reviews are appreciated. Ciao for now!


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I don’t own Hetalia.

* * *

How did she keep getting herself into these situations? Evelyn thought to herself as she put everyday of P.E. she had into effect. How hard was it to stay out of trouble like Arthur said? Obviously harder than Arthur and she had thought or she wouldn’t be madly running through London. Her foot caught on something or nothing and she frantically regained her balance as shouts sounded behind her. Despite the burning in her thighs and stomach she couldn’t help her mind wandering back to Arthur.

She hadn’t seen Arthur go into work. He had left her at the fountain in a business park. She had assumed one of the buildings was actually the one he worked in, but she hadn’t seen him go into any of them. Evelyn was almost positive he worked for the government; she had overheard him talking to the Prime Minister after all! Today though, he said he had an important meeting to attend and would be gone all day. He told her where he would be and then said she was free to wander as long as she stayed out of trouble and they had parted ways.

Trouble really had been the last thing on her mind when she discovered the street market by the Thames. She had been browsing the different wares when she came upon a group of three boys harassing another smaller one. One petty insult had led to another and another. Of course, being the oldest and most mature, Evelyn had won the petty match of wits making her feel rather smug. The boys hadn’t taken too kindly to her smirk which was why she was now mindlessly running through the streets of London franticly keeping familiar streets and buildings in her sights. This led her straight back to where she had parted with Arthur. The boys’ angry shouts and taunts followed her getting ever closer. Making a split second decision, she headed for the closest building to their meeting place.

Evelyn burst through a heavy set of glass doors with the boys’ jeers behind her. She didn’t stop once she was inside and didn’t realize the doors had slowed the boys down. Instead, she kept going, her adrenaline-riddled brain urging her forward. Two men in blue uniforms appeared before her and she jumped around them continuing away from her pursuers with angry shouts echoing through the lobby.

She was on the third floor before she slowed ducking through the first set of doors she saw. The American leaned against them hoping the guards would pass her by and then she could call Arthur and explain what happened and…

“Evelyn?” Well speak of the devil and he shall answer.

Broken from her frantic panic (as they hadn’t really been boys chasing her, but two burly guys with arms as big around as she and the boy being tormented was really a wimpy office worker and damn was London dangerous!), she took a moment to look around her surroundings wide-eyed. She was in a large _occupied_ conference room. The occupants were of all different nationalities, which was weird enough, but they were all staring at her like _she_ was the strange one. She was only an American in London; what could be more normal than that? She made a face at her own stupid thoughts—they weren’t normal for her. A movement of someone standing caught her attention.

Arthur was the one who had spoken; he was near the head of the table closest to her. Francis wasn’t too far away; he blew her a kiss, she flipped him off completely forgetting the room full of people. For some reason, a brunette beside him started frantically waving a white flag and crying. A blonde at the head glared at her British guardian.

“Evelyn!” Arthur reprimanded her. Hopefully it wasn’t for the rude gesture since the Brit had given her almost express permission to insult the Frenchman whenever possible. However that permission didn’t extend to just bursting into his very important meeting, out of breath and without warning.

Damn her thighs hurt. Her gym teacher would have been proud; she might’ve been able to get an A out of the bastard. He was kind of strict…like Arthur…who was looking at her expectantly…

Oops.

He marched toward her his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

Evelyn bit her lip, thinking. “I was, uh, running?” She attempted a smile that was more of a grimace.

He was trying hard to contain his temper. “_Why_ were you running?” The only way to describe his voice was tight as he physically bit back his temper with a stiff jaw and the shaking in his white knuckled fists.

“There were these guys picking on a smaller kid,” it came out before she could stop it. Well, her version anyways, Arthur wouldn’t have like the real version and he already looked like he was on his way to a stroke; she wasn’t going to be the one who pushed him over the edge. “You should’ve seen this kid; he looked so pathetic that I couldn’t just leave him there, so I told them to back off. They told me to stay out of it and called me a stupid American. Well, I couldn’t just let _that_ slide, so I said I rather be stupid than someone who’s too cowardly to pick on someone their own size and…er, there might’ve been something else…” She didn’t feel like she was twenty-one anymore, but fifteen trying to explain why she punched the kid at school.

“What else?” His voice was low, an exasperated growl.

“Um, well, I know how sensitive _you_ get about it so I thought it might work with them too. I kind of told them that the Americans kicked their asses once and I would be happy to do it again.” There was that mature argument from earlier. Somehow the more she looked back at this, the more she should have just talked to a cop or something more rational. What was with her and the not-like-her decisions?

Arthur let out a deep breath as he pinched the bridge of his nose waiting for her to continue. His shoulders slumped a little so that meant she was winning, right?

“That’s when they took out their knives and I’m not dumb enough to stick around after that, so I started running and I ended up here. That’s it.” Arthur moved towards her and the door. Hopefully he would reprimand her someplace more private, i.e. not the conference room.

Francis burst out laughing. “She has a bit of a hero complex, _non_?”

“Shut up frog!” Arthur snapped releasing enough of his anger to make Francis cower.

_That must be some evil glare_, Evelyn thought absently.

He turned back to Evelyn opening the door and stopping a security guard who had been looking for the girl who had infiltrated the building. He gave Evelyn a warning look before addressing the guard. The American had yet to see the fury on his face but it must have been terrible since the poor guard was shaking as he escorted her to Arthur’s office standing outside to keep her there.

* * *

England paused at the door still not facing the rest of the nations as he reeled in his temper. He had thought she was in serious trouble when she came bursting through the door like the IRA was after her. It had sparked an old feeling of rage in him—something eerily similar to his Empire days when another country had wanted a piece of America. He needed to redirect his anger.

France laughed again catching his attention and allowing him to turn his anger into the familiar annoyance for the French nation. He would have to thank him later or just not hurt him as much for the rest of the day.

The Englishman tuned back to the other nations present. He knew his eyes were livid by the way Italy crawled under the table to sob on Germany’s boots while waving his white flag. He took a deep breath and, temper back in control, moved to the table with France making a pass at his ass as he passed him. He resisted the urge to strangle the frog for the simple joy of it. It would help immensely towards improving his mood, but it would go against his non-verbal thanks to France. Said nation caught his eye and gave him a stern nod.

Bloody frog reading his mind.

The English nation had never met anyone who could get into so much trouble and give him such a headache…no, that wasn’t true. He just hadn’t met someone else in over thirty years.

“England-san, if I may ask, who was that?” Japan’s quiet voice carried through the sounds of Italy’s sobbing Evelyn’s entrance had resulted in.

How to answer that question? He wasn’t sure if he believed it himself.

“Poor _Angleterre_ is still coming to terms with my discovery of _petite Amerique_.”

The stupid snail eater was far too pleased with himself.

“She’s America?” Germany questioned skeptically. “She doesn’t have the nation aura.”

Canada answered. “She does, but it’s weak. It’s more noticeable when she’s dreaming.” England had kept the Canadian up-to-date with the situation. Alfred had been Matthew’s brother after all; the boy deserved to know what was happening.

“Dreaming?” Italy asked. “So, she’s only a nation when she’s asleep?”

“_Non_,” France answered. “Her dreams are America’s memories. She is still unaware of their true significance however and _Angleterre_ is quite adamant about not telling her.”

“We’re still not entirely sure,” England spoke up. “After all, she’s shown no sign of truly recognizing any of us.”

“_Oui_, but her dreams, her actions…”

England shook his head. “…Could be something else entirely.”

“What if we let her sit in on the meeting? Perhaps she would remember more?” Japan suggested.

It met with mixed reactions.

* * *

Arthur’s office resembled a Captain’s quarters on an old fashioned ship than the stereotypical offices she had seen on T.V. Dark wood paneling covered the floor and walls giving the room a rich feeling of comfort. A huge polished desk was the center focus when walking into the room. Piles of paper were stacked in an order that only Arthur knew and yet, for being in the twenty-first century, there was no sign of a computer or laptop. Maybe he had one of those fancy computers built into the desk.

She moved over to the desk peeking around it like someone might attack her for looking. No built-in computer. She looked up out of the window situated behind Arthur’s desk only to blink dumbly. It wasn’t a window at all but a huge painting of the ocean. She should have noticed something was off when she had seen the blue sky and the wooden ships. On either side of the frame, stood two flags: the Union Jack and England’s own St. George’s Cross; between the flags was an old timey globe. Tasteful waist-high bookshelves connected the corner of the picture frame to the walls. Looking up and around she could see the hidden lights that had been used to make it look like light was coming from the painting.

Other pictures hung on the walls above the shelves, but the images were too small for her to see without being right on them.

Evelyn spun around in a full circle her eyes landing on the real window in the office. It had a window seat complete with crocheted pillows. She idly wondered which little old lady had made them for him. She had always wanted a window seat, of course, hers would be more modern not the horrid floral pattern with the embroidered pillows someone’s grandma had given him. Either way, window seats seemed like the perfect place to curl up and read in, especially after today’s ordeal. It looked like Arthur thought the same because there was a book sitting invitingly on the cushion.

She picked it up curling herself into a comfortable position in the window. The book was a well-loved copy of _Hamlet_. It wasn’t her favorite of Shakespeare, but it wasn’t her least favorite either. She opened the cover and began to read.

* * *

Arthur stormed into his office, slamming the door open, mouth already pulled into a firm frown. He paused upon looking at the room, face morphing into one of slight confusion at not seeing his charge, but then he heard the turning of a page and he noticed her sitting in the window intently reading his copy of _Hamlet_. His eyebrows furrowed irritably.

“Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead,” she informed him before setting the play aside and hugging her knees to her chest.

“As they should be for being gits and not standing by their friend’s trust.” Arthur quipped scolding the reckless girl in his own way. He reaffixed the frown on his face giving her a rather unhappy, almost disappointed, look. She had nearly given him a heart attack after all.

Taking a deep breath, she said, “I’m sorry for interrupting your important meeting, like, really sorry and I know you told me to stay out of trouble, but I just…”

He sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat. He held up a hand to stop her rambling. “You did the right thing.” Arthur rolled his eyes before turning his back to her and crossing to his desk. She left the window seat following slowly and hesitantly hoping to talk to him. Taking a seat in a high-backed chair that looked like something from an evil villain movie, he swiveled to face her. “Since it seems I can’t leave you alone for even a day without trouble, you’ll be attending the meeting with me.” She knew this was meant to be some sort of punishment, but a weird gleam in Arthur’s eye made her think might be more of a revenge thing.

In reality, the other nations had decided that Evelyn should attend hoping the familiarity of the meetings would spark a memory. England was against it, but he couldn’t find a good reason why he was.

“What? Oh, come on, I said I was sorry and I promise to stay out of trouble.”

Then again, it would be just as much torture for her as it would be for him. “You’re coming with me and that’s final.” He grinned. “Besides, you might just learn something.”

Evelyn grumbled sinking into the nearest chair. “Fine, but now comes the important question.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“What am I going to wear?”

Arthur groaned already feeling a hole forming in his pocket book.

* * *

The Englishman groaned again as they entered another store. The fifth store to be exact, but who was counting. He really should have just purchased the outfit they had found in the first store, but the price! He wouldn’t get vacation time for another ten years if he had purchased that suit.

“Hey Artie, what about these?” Evelyn appeared from behind a rack of clothes holding a pair of black slacks which were wrinkling horribly from the way she waved them around.

“I cannot see them while they are balled up and being used as a flag,” Arthur retorted his patience seriously being tested and a dull ache starting in his head.

“Oh yeah.” She gave a nervous laugh before letting the slacks unfold and holding them up by the waistband for him to see.

He gave them a quick once over wrinkling his nose at what he saw. He really did not know all that much about women’s fashion especially when it came to teenage girls, but he was sure the article of clothing he was currently examining was inappropriate. They were black flaring at the ankles. The waistline looked far too low.

“The zipper is not even five centimeters long!” he exclaimed. “I will not have someone who is living under my roof dressed as a harlot.” He had been to clubs (he went out drinking with Prussia and Denmark after all) and noticed the clothes the girls wore there, but something like that was not at all appropriate for a business setting.

“Geez, you sound like such a dad. Lighten up old man.” She put the slacks back looking for another pair that would pass his inspection.

“I’m not old,” Arthur protested crossing his arms. Evelyn muffled her snickering with a hand using the rack of clothes to hide.

He looked around the store trying not to think about the “dad” comment. It was a hopeless endeavor however as his thoughts strayed back to those memories. He had often scolded Alfred for his appearance especially when the boy had come running into the house covered from head to toe in mud, clothing ripped from recklessly charging through the bushes or climbing trees on some new adventure.

“How about these?” Evelyn interrupted his musing holding up another pair of slacks making sure to straighten them out this time. This pair had a considerably higher waist, were black and seemed much more appropriate for a World Meeting.

“Better.” He nodded his assent groaning as the girl pulled out another similar pair draping both over her arm. “How much will this cost?” He wanted to make sure she looked presentable, but, with the economy the way it is, he _was_ on a budget.

“Relax, they’re on sale.” She pointed to the sign on the rack before moving to another one, this one holding blouses.

Arthur was getting tired of shopping. He hadn’t gone with her the first time she bought clothes, just gave her enough cash to buy what she needed. That reminded him: he needed to get France to pay him back for the expense since it was the frog’s fault for kidnapping the girl.

“Oh, this is cute.” She held up dark blue button up turning to a mirror to see how it looked. The blouse itself was rather simple and he had no complaint with it. Then she held up another. It was cream colored and looser than the other one, however the material was sheer, almost translucent.

“Absolutely not!”

“I would wear a cami under it.” Evelyn pouted her lower lip sticking out slightly and giving him puppy-dog eyes so similar to America’s he could feel himself giving in.

“No,” he replied adamantly drawing on past experience. “I told you, you will not look so unprofessional while you are living under my roof.”

“Technically, I think you said harlot.” She pointed out petulantly.

He gave her a don’t-test-me glare holding it until she put the article of clothing back. Evelyn grabbed a few more tops holding each one up for his inspection then retreated to the changing rooms.

Satisfied everything fit and was up to the Englishman’s standards, they went to check out. Arthur nearly had a heart attack when he saw the final price—why were women’s clothes so much more expensive than men’s?—but still gave the cashier his credit card.

Evelyn grabbed the bags leading the way out. She was practically bouncing in excitement. “Thanks again Artie! Oh look, an ice cream shop. Can we get some? Pretty please?” She clasped her hands in front of her like she was begging, the gesture masked by the two shopping bags still in her hands.

Arthur looked between the shop and the girl for a minute. Giving out an exasperated and defeated sigh, he nodded. “Very well, but only a small treat.”

She cheered nearly hitting an innocent passerby with a bag without realizing. She ran off for the ice cream shop leaving Arthur to apologize for his charge’s behavior before he followed hoping to keep her from getting into more trouble.

* * *

A/N:

Thank you also to all my reviewers/kudos! You guys make me ridiculously happy whenever I see that little notice in my e-mail. I love you all!

As always, reviews are loved. 

Ciao for now!


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I don’t own.

* * *

Evelyn spun in the chair that had been placed behind Arthur for her. She was bored. Arthur had given her a pen and notepad with strict instructions to not use it or its spring as a projectile. She had given him a rather weird look in return. What did he think she would do? She was a history major not an antagonist. It had been a good plan to keep her occupied, but they now sat forgotten on her lap as she kept spinning.

“Do you always get here this early?” she questioned as the Englishman was trying to look over his notes for the day, but, for some reason, his gaze kept being drawn to the blank chalkboard.

“I am always punctual.” He straightened his already straight collar.

“That’s great and all, but you’re not just punctual—that would be like ten minutes early,” his face reflected his displeasure for that idea. “I mean, you’re like _super_ early.”

Arthur sighed setting his papers down. “The others will be arriving shortly and since this conference is being hosted by my country, it is important that I be here should any of the others arrive. Will you stop that?” He grabbed hold of the arm of her chair effectively stopping her spinning.

She jerked slightly from the abrupt stop before sticking her tongue out at him.

“How very mature.” He commented returning to his notes.

The American puffed out her cheeks and slouched in the chair only to jump in the next instant as someone said a soft, “Hello.”

“Good morning Matthew,” Arthur greeted without looking up from his notes. He had started furiously looking back and forth between two stapled sheets frustration visible in his emerald eyes.

Evelyn looked up at the tall pale blonde man who had just come in. He wore glasses over his violet eyes and had a strange curl on one side. He felt familiar. She had to stop the urge to hug and slap him on the back; he was a stranger after all.

“Hello Evelyn,” he addressed her smiling softly.

She sat up straighter. “Oh, hi!” she responded nervously gripping the arm of her chair. _Must resist touching stranger._ “Um…how do you know my name?”

He chuckled. “Well, Arthur did say it yesterday, but we’ve also met before—briefly.”

She furrowed her brow as she thought back. He did look familiar…oh, right. “You were the guy at the front door that day.” _Oh great Evelyn, that was descriptive. What happened to that college knowledge?_

He nodded offering her a hand. “I’m Matthew Williams, Canada.” So that was the accent she was hearing, Canadian.

She took it and they shook. “Evelyn Summers, American.” She gave him one of her warmest smiles. Arthur had since stood up ripping the sheets apart to look at them side-by-side.

“Um…” Evelyn paused, hand poised to touch Arthur’s arm in concern.

“Just let him be,” Matthew spoke up, voice still soft.

“But he…” She trailed off watching as Arthur’s aggravation increased at the two harmless sheets of paper.

“He’ll be distracted soon enough,” said Matthew before moving to his seat.

Other people started making their way into the room all of them talking to one another, words becoming lost in a mix of accents. She recognized some—Francis and Antonio mostly—but there were so many others; she wondered if they were a committee and then hoped they weren’t because nothing would get done.

When they had all assembled, a blonde haired blue-eyed man with a thick German accent stood up and started going over the agenda. This was odd in Evelyn’s opinion. Arthur said that England was hosting, so shouldn’t _he_ be the one hosting? Maybe they voted on a leader or he was appointed by the UN or something. She attempted to catch Arthur’s attention to show him the hastily scribbled questions to get some answers, but to no avail; his attention was on the speaker. Evelyn went back to only half-listening, doodling idly. After only a few minutes, she grew uncomfortable and shifted, but it wasn’t her position that bothered her.

No, they were all _staring_ at her. _Creepers._

She quickly averted her own gaze back to her notepad wishing she could just sink through the floor. It was so obvious she didn’t belong here, not to mention Arthur hadn’t even let her sit at the table, but she couldn’t just leave either because the door was on the opposite side of the room; everyone would see her! That would be even more awkward. She couldn’t even crawl under the table to get away.

A few of the representatives were whispering to each other gesturing in her direction. Hopefully they were talking about Arthur’s eyebrows and not her. Evelyn bit her lip. She couldn’t even talk since Matthew was on the other side of the room and Arthur was being a good example and listening. The American shifted again causing her chair to squeak. Arthur shot her a glare over his shoulder. She stilled returning to her doodles. It was going to be a long day and her doodling abilities sucked. Too bad she couldn’t stash her iPod and listen to it. Arthur had taken that earlier in the day.

“How easy it is to slip back into old habits, eh _Angleterre_?” Francis leaned into Arthur’s personal space. Arthur leaned away from him.

“I don’t know what you mean frog,” Arthur retorted with false innocence moving his papers to his new position.

Francis smiled knowingly moving back to throw an arm over his eyes melodramatically. “I think you know exactly what I mean. Although I think we have to be careful or you might just restart your empire.” He was smirking at the Englishman now, egging him on.

“If I wanted my empire back, you’d be the first to know.” Arthur hissed back with a snort at the end.

The Frenchman sighed dramatically. “What else can you expect from a former delinquent?” He waggled his eyebrows at Evelyn.

Was he _trying_ to bait Arthur into a fight? Evelyn found herself hiding a smile, but a small giggle still escaped at the image of the Englishman being a delinquent. The man didn’t even own a computer; how could he be a delinquent?

Arthur slammed his hands on the table standing up, his chair rolling back. Maybe that’s why all the chairs were on wheels. “Keep going frog and I’ll give you another Hundred Years’ War!” Evelyn looked to the representatives around her for back up, but no one was doing anything.

Evelyn didn’t know what to do. Was this normal? Should she try and restrain the Englishman? No one else seemed all that surprised by the confrontation, only the German representative seemed keen on stopping it.

“Enough! We’ll go on lunch break and resume the meeting afterwards when France and England can stop behaving like children.” The others murmured agreement and the meeting broke up.

“But England’s small enough to be a child.” Antonio’s voice piped up somewhere.

Arthur moved to go towards Antonio when Evelyn grabbed his arm and held him back. She didn’t want Arthur to start any international incidents over lunch.

“Wait here,” the Brit told her. “I need to speak with one of the others.” She gave him a disbelieving look before he sighed. “It’s not Antonio.” She let go of him as he moved away.

Evelyn nodded returning to her doodles. If she got anything out of today, it would be better art skills. It was hardly a few seconds, not even long enough for her to truly get into the shading she was trying, after Arthur left that a shadow fell over her. Looking up, she found an amazingly tall man with platinum blonde hair and violet eyes; he wore a long coat and white scarf. His childish smile was playing havoc with her internal alarm bells.

“You are America, _da_?” he asked. His accent sounded like something from Eastern Europe, but she couldn’t pin it down. It really wasn’t her area of interest.

“Er, yes, I’m American.” She stood and held out her hand. “My name is Evelyn Summers.” _Just smile and wave boys, smile and wave_, she thought to herself hoping to get this over with and to make him leave.

He smiled, but something about it sent more shivers down her spine. “Are you enjoying the meeting so far comrade America?” He didn’t take her hand and she dropped it. Little hairs on the back of her neck raised as time passed.

_Ice breaker, Evelyn, ice breaker_.

“I don’t really understand what’s going on actually. Are these fights common?” She attempted a pathetic smile back at him.

“_Da_, but not for a long time now. Comrade America, you are staying with comrade England, _da_?”

The girl twitched. “It’s _Evelyn_ and yes I am. I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch your name earlier.” She was staying with Mr. Manners, she might as well use them.

“I am Ivan Braginsky, Russia. Perhaps you would like to visit me sometime, _da_ comrade America?” The hairs on the back of Evelyn’s neck were standing completely on end now.

Her fight or flight instincts were kicking in—flight being the wisest option—but she really wished he would stop calling her that. She would be nice though; Arthur would kill her if she got into more trouble especially after yesterday. “I would like to travel the world someday…” _Vague, vague was good._

“I think you would like it there comrade America. We have a lot of history.” He was now leaning into her personal space.

Evelyn’s hands curled into fists as she slowly stood. She may be short, but any height would add to her advantage at the moment. This guy was really starting to piss her off. _Don’t start trouble. Don’t start trouble. Don’t start trouble._ She repeated it to herself over and over. She forced a warm smile onto her face as she turned to look at him.

“Are you all right, comrade America?” There was an acquired gleam in his eyes.

“Keep calm and carry on, keep calm and carry on.” The American muttered under her breath to herself.

“I’m sorry comrade America. I couldn’t hear you.” Ivan had somehow managed an innocent sneer.

_Screw it, the saying was always more of a British thing anyways_. Evelyn’s head snapped up leveling an Arthur worthy glare at the Russian. “I said,” she stated clearly, “stop calling me that you damn commie bastard!” The physical version of the Cold War broke out in the conference room.

* * *

A/N: 

As always reviews are loved. Later!


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I have never owned Hetalia. Evelyn is mine though. Also, three chapters today. Figured I get the entire world meeting out of the way.

* * *

Russia’s chilling laugh filled the room.

“Da, comrade Amerika, it is easy to tell you have been staying with comrade England When it is summer, you will stay with me. The sunflowers will be so pretty.” Evelyn twitched at the comment.

“I don’t do well when given orders,” she hissed. Arthur appeared, grabbing her arm and moving her slightly behind him.

“How about we compromise? You both will stay at my house for a bit this summer. The sunflowers you gave me, Ivan, will be in full bloom and I would love for you to see them.” Arthur gave a light smile, his heart still racing from the stressful situation. Russia nodded his head before ambling away. Arthur’s shoulders slumped as he let out a whoosh of air. He had just invited Russia to his home for no set amount of time. He was screwed.

A hush had fallen over the room while everyone held their breath. Arthur took a few deep breaths. Of all the nations to talk to Evelyn, Russia should’ve been the last on the list. His history with America was not all pleasant—who was he kidding? They had hated each other—and the English nation was afraid it might spark one of the American’s episodes.

“Let me go!” she yelled. “I’m gonna nuke the damn commie to hell and back!” Evelyn’s voice brought Arthur back to the here and now.

Did she even realize what she was saying? It was going to be like the Cold War all over again. They hadn’t been able to get through a meeting without the two trying to kill each other. England dragged her from the room.

She stopped struggling once they were in the hall, but Arthur continued to half-drag, half-lead her down the stairs. The guards at the door looked up at the commotion Evelyn was causing as Arthur dragged her, but turned back to their work like it was a regular occurrence. He dragged her across the sidewalk and to the nearest pub. Grumbling, he pushed her into a booth a pretty bubbly brunette came up with a smile until she saw Arthur’s face. Her smile disappeared and she quivered slightly. This was the lunch hour; she wasn’t supposed to get scary people for lunch.

Arthur ordered for them and waited for their drinks. He went eerily calm, face going blank as he looked at her, blinking slowly. She started shivering from the creepiness. If this was a form of interrogation, Arthur was the master of it.

“Evelyn…”

“I’m sorry Artie!” she cried before he could really say anything. He was creepy today! “I tried to stay out of trouble, but then that guy just kept annoying me, but I knew you would be pissed if I started something. Then I just…snapped…but he started it!” she added the last hastily as if it would save her from blame.

Arthur gave her a blank look before sighing, pinching the bridge of his nose. He seemed to be doing that a lot since the American had come into his life. “Ivan did seem to be goading you, yes, but you should still be able to control yourself. For God’s sake Evelyn, the man is twice your size; do you honestly think you could have won?”

The girl crossed her arms and leaned back against the seat. “Maybe…”

He stared at her.

“Okay, no,” she admitted, “but I don’t always think before I act. It just happens.”

“That, I believe, is more than obvious.” His tone was bored, borderline exasperated.

Evelyn puffed out her cheeks, but their food arrived cutting off any retort. They ate mostly in companionable silence.

When they had just about finished, Arthur asked her, “Will you behave for the rest of the meeting?”

She made a face. “Yeah.” She did not want to find out what Arthur’s idea of daycare was.

“It’s ‘yes’. Are you ready to go?” His tone hadn’t changed any causing her stomach to curl with unease.

She stuffed a couple more fries into her mouth to make up for the feeling before nodding and saying, “Yes.”

Arthur finally made a face though I might not have been the best change. He placed some bills on the table and led her out.

When they entered the conference room, everyone was staring at her again. Evelyn shifted uncomfortably staying as close to Arthur as possible without tripping him up. Some of the representatives seemed amused by this; Arthur was just annoyed.

They took their seats and the meeting resumed not long after. The American resumed her doodling looking up only when those present were preoccupied with another argument—this time between Israel and Palestine.

Matthew was looking at her. When their eyes met, he smiled reassuringly at her and she smiled back. He made a face at her and she stifled a laugh. The Canadian kept her entertained for the next couple hours and, surprisingly, no one seemed to notice.

The next day was easier. The delegates fought more not paying her nearly so much attention.

* * *

Everyone was packing up to leave. Arthur turned to address the girl under his charge only to watch the notebook covered in doodles fall from her limp fingers as she slipped from her chair her breath coming in shallow gasps. Evelyn pressed her hands against her ears; slowly her fingers curled into claws becoming entangled in her hair as she screamed.

The rest of the room fell silent, all eyes turning to the girl screaming in agony. England knelt in front of her as France, calling for China, and Canada both rushed to join him. Evelyn’s eyes were clenched tightly shut as she continued to scream.

“Ai ya! What’s wrong with her aru?” China asked joining their group.

“She’s having an episode,” England replied, “but it’s worse than the others and I don’t know what caused it.”

“She’s going to hurt herself like this,” Canada interjected his arm held out awkwardly as if he wanted to stop her, but was afraid to touch her.

“Evelyn,” England called. He grabbed her shoulders, shaking her as he tried again, “Evelyn!”

Her eyes snapped open, the screaming fading to whimpers. Tears spilled from the glazed orbs and Arthur could tell she wasn’t really seeing them.

“Evelyn…?”

China took her wrist to feel for a pulse. The American flailed wildly forcing both nations back. She gasped and scooted backwards until her back was against the wall wedged in between two cabinets. Then she put her arms up blocking her face, protecting it from something only she could see.

Arthur followed her calling her name to no avail.

“We have to sedate her before she hurts herself.” China informed him. Canada went for the first aid kit.

England had a feeling that wouldn’t help her at all.

“_Angleterre_, try a different name.”

A different name? What was the frog getting at? Then it hit him and a part of him feared what would happen.

“America!” he barked.

That elicited a reaction. She flinched lowering her arms and turning blind eyes toward him. “Sorry Dad, I didn’t mean to…”

Arthur froze. Her voice sounded just like how _he_ used to whenever Arthur had to scold _him_. England looked to France for help. The Frenchman motioned for him to keep going, to do something.

Tentatively, Arthur stretched out a hand tousling her hair just like he used to do when _he_ was younger. “It’s okay,” he whispered.

She relaxed at his touch slumping against one of the cabinets, her breathing returning to normal. Arthur pushed a stray lock of hair away from her face breathing a sigh of relief and finding a small bit of joy from the almost imperceptible smile gracing her lips.

* * *

The bickering of the representatives was amusing to her and she even found some peace in it. Evelyn looked at the doodle she had been idly working on for the past hour. It was of Arthur gleefully firing a nuke at Francis. The two men were really no better than stick figures, but she was perversely proud of her mushroom cloud.

She swayed in her seat, the edges of her vision going black. She tried to call out for Arthur, but her voice wouldn’t cooperate. Soon, she would black out.

_Explosions and screams filled the air. Everywhere she looked there was blood and death. Another bomb dropped to her left and she shied away the shockwave knocking her from her feet. She couldn’t catch her breath; she had to get up and run._

_More bombs dropped. None touched her, but she felt each one as if they had. It hurt, oh how it hurt! She clutched at her head as pain bloomed fresh with each explosion, her entire body on fire._

_She stumbled, landing by the body of a dead soldier. His entire left side was missing, the one remaining eye staring lifelessly, accusingly, at her. She screamed and scrambled to get away. Someone grabbed her, but she fought the contact retreating into an alcove wishing for the pain to stop._

_The scene changed so suddenly it was staggering. She was hiding in a closet, but she also had the distinct impression that it wasn’t quite _her_._

_“America!” a familiar voice barked tinged with worry._

_She flinched. He only called her that when she was in trouble…no, she had never been called that…_

_She reached up and opened the door tumbling from the closet in an undignified heap. She pushed stray strands of hair from her eyes looking up at her caretaker. He had just come back; he still wore his military uniform: the standard issue red coat with his pistol and sword still belted around his waist._

_“There you are. Don’t worry me like that again!” Arthur was angry, but it was the anger of a concerned parent, not his true anger. She had thankfully never been on the receiving end of that._

_“Sorry Dad, I didn’t mean to…” She hung her head. She didn’t like worrying Arthur…no, that wasn’t her, it wasn’t her voice._

_Arthur knelt in front of her tousling her hair and smiling. “Just don’t do it again.”_

_The simple gesture made her happy. As long as Arthur cared about her, she was content…no! That wasn’t her!_

_The scene changed again and she was back to the familiar ending: the gunfire and men dying. She crawled to a clump of bushes (no, not there!) and then a gun was pressed to her back and the bullet ripped through her. Her vision was going black…_

_“I’m sorry…Iggy.”_

Evelyn bolted upright nearly smacking the Chinese representative—Yao? Yes, that was his name. She had been placed on a couch in one of the side offices.

Searching for Arthur, her eyes roamed wildly around the room until he placed a hand on her shoulder. He had been behind her. Contact with him alone calmed her and she lay back down willing her heartbeat to slow.

“Artie…” her voice was hoarse. Had she screamed in the real world? He handed her a glass of water which she greedily drank. Setting the empty glass to the side, she laid back down putting an arm over her eyes. “It’s getting worse.” A single tear leaked from the corner of her eye. “Damn it! They’re getting worse; I felt it this time, Artie, I felt it and it _hurt_.”

Arthur took her hand rubbing small circles into the back of it with his thumb. He had already explained to China about her episodes, but the older nation could find no reason for the sudden change.

“What did you see?” the Englishman asked.

“It looked like a war was going on. I could feel every bomb that exploded and there was this soldier…oh god! I can remember them now!” She stilled as if realizing something then sat up suddenly. “I saw you,” she whispered locking eyes with the Brit. “It was so weird. You were dressed like a British redcoat and talking to someone you called America.”

England froze. She could remember now, but she still didn’t know the significance of her dreams. He could tell her everything now; tell her about the memories being dreams, about the nations, everything…but he just couldn’t. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

China sent him a look, but England brushed it off.

Evelyn shook her head. “It’s not nothing! Artie, I’ve been having these dreams for _months_ now. Either I’m going bat shit crazy or they actually mean something and I just haven’t figured it out yet.”

“I thought you had given up on all this?” Arthur asked more than a little worried.

“I did, but now that it’s getting worse I want to know again because I’m not crazy and these dreams have to mean something!” She hugged her knees to her chest resting her head against them. “If only I could figure out why I’m having them…”

China gave him another look which England again ignored.

Arthur tousled Evelyn’s hair again breaking her from the miniature depression. “Let’s go home,” he told her.

She nodded rubbing her eyes tiredly. There were times when she acted like such a child it was hard to see her as an adult. Arthur helped her up.

“Sorry Artie,” she yawned. “I kept messing up your meeting.”

He smiled. “No, you didn’t.”

The Englishman took her back to the house and put her to bed.

* * *

A/N:

Thank you also to my reviewers/kudos. You guys are awesome, like Prussia awesome, no lie. Y’all make my day when I see the alerts in my e-mail.

Reviews are loved. Auf Wiedersehen!


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